


There Is No Fate But What We Make

by CommanderTrashPanda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Between Seasons/Series, Canon, Clexa, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Canon, Romance, Science Fiction, Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, Smut, The 100 - Freeform, fixit fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 88,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6324391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderTrashPanda/pseuds/CommanderTrashPanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has been living alone in the woods for weeks after walking away from Camp Jaha. She finds a girl bound, gagged, beaten, and left for dead.  Against her instincts, she decides to trust her and discovers this stranger not only knows about her, about Lexa, about Skaikru and Grounders and Mountain Men, but she shows Clarke there are others influencing the world around them... and maybe even involves a certain AI trying to "make humanity better."</p><p>OR</p><p>Following S3-adjacent, many scenes will be familiar, but are tied together in new ways.</p><p>This isn't a quick fix-it fic. It's a long story with a lot of self reflection, angst, sci fi, and world building.</p><p>For all of you thirsties: Yes, it's Clexa. Yes, they bang.<br/>But earning back that trust? It's gonna take a while.</p><p>I hope you'll give it a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first time writing anything so your comments are really appreciated. 
> 
> I know it's WIP and it's taking a while, but I'm just a slow writer so please forgive me. The story is all outlined / mapped out, so it's just a matter of finding the time to write.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dead are gone.  
> The living are hungry.  
> And Clarke was fucking starving.

Days had turned into weeks since Clarke had walked away from Camp Jaha, the sounds of her people’s voices replaced with the calls of birds as they flitted from tree to tree, the steady crunch of leaves beneath her feet like waves on the shore -- or at least, how she imagined the ocean to sound, never having actually experienced it except from miles above in the infinite silence of space. She pictured the water slowly wearing rocks into pebbles into sand and silt. She could feel it in her mouth like she’d swallowed a handful of dirt and no matter how many times she tried to rinse it out, she could still feel the squeaky crunch of grit -- the blood and bones of countless enemies and innocents -- between her teeth, coating her fingers, dried and crusted beneath her nails.

Her people or theirs. The Sky People or The Grounders or The Mountain Men. How many times would she have to make the call that could and would change everything? And every time she thought of The Commander, a little shock of electricity, followed by a sickening wave of guilt travelled through her body. 

When she had confronted The Commander in her tent, backing her into a table while calling her a liar for saying she didn’t feel for those she had lost, Clarke thought she had been right. She  _ knew _ she had been right in that moment, as she watched The Commander’s facade crumble, eyes wide and watery as she confessed to Clarke that she cared about her, watching as Lexa emerged, vulnerable and torn. And later, when Clarke had felt the soft, tentative press of Lexa’s lips against hers, growing more bold as Clarke surprised herself by kissing Lexa back, she felt hopeful that even though she had meant it when she had said “not yet,” she didn’t want that to mean forever.

It didn’t matter now. None of it mattered now. Clarke wondered if those she left behind at Camp Jaha even understood her leaving. They probably thought she needed to be alone to come to some sort of peace with her actions at Mount Weather. At the dropship. At any number of other crossroads she had faced since stepping foot on this prison.

But peace was not what she sought in the wilderness. Peace was what she would have found in staying. Slowly, with the help of her people, the ache and sickness in her chest would have melted among their support, their laughter, and their love for her. She didn’t want the self-loathing to fade and be pushed aside as more pleasant memories were formed. She needed to feel all of her rage and hatred and shame as it washed over her, constant as the ebb and flow of the tide every waking moment and as it crashed her from fitful sleep. 

Worse was when consciousness came slowly, the dreams instead of nightmares swirling like mist as she felt the pressing warmth of Lexa’s body evaporating into the cold hard earth beneath her. She hated herself in different ways on those mornings. But despite the betrayal at the mountain and sickness she felt every time she thought of The Commander, Clarke knew Lexa had been right: love is weakness and she must inoculate herself against her own feelings if she was ever going to survive and lead in this new world.

Who we are and who we must be aren’t always aligned and so she had to stop caring. She needed to hollow out her insides of all wants and desires so that she could fill herself with the needs of her people and not ever have to dwell on what it meant to be  _ her _ ever again. This was the lesson The Commander had taught her. As much as Clarke had felt like the betrayal was personal, her heart ripping as she watched braids and blood and warpaint retreat into the forest that night, she knew deep down that The Commander had left because she wasn’t swayed anymore by feelings. She was strong. Clarke was weak and she hated Lexa for being the leader she wasn't yet capable of being. 

As Clarke moved through the woods, her feet and hands becoming more callused by the constant wearing of her boots and branches and rocks and steel against her skin, she felt the same slow layers hardening from within. She forced herself to think of the blood, spilling like a breaking dam at the flip of a switch. If she was going to survive herself, she would have to be able to look back at the death and destruction she left in her wake without remorse or shock. The shell she was creating would be impenetrable. Eventually.

Even as she caught and killed game for sustenance, she made herself look openly at the last spasms of life and viscera within, swallowing down the bile and revulsion, determined to form more layers around her soul.

 

The dead are gone.

The living are hungry.

And Clarke was fucking starving.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not another body. Not more death. Everything told her to run. But she ignored her desires, unsheathed her knife, and moved forward.

The first thing Clarke noticed as she walked around the large fallen tree in her path was an ear. Its unusual and distinctive shape, perfectly formed, delicate, slightly pink and bright against the earthy backdrop of the forest floor. As she drew closer, she saw the ear belonged to a body, crumpled on its side, covered only by thin clothing, caked in dirt and blood. Her eyes moved from the ear down to the neck and followed the rope to its end, tied to a broken branch a few feet away.

Not another body. Not more death. Everything told her to run. But she ignored her desires, unsheathed her knife, and moved forward.

It was a girl, probably around her age. She couldn’t tell exactly how old or any other details as her face was badly beaten and bruised, one eye completely swollen shut. Her wrists were bound in front of her, raw and bloody, and Clarke wasn’t sure, but she thought that the holes and wetness on her clothing were from being stabbed, maybe even shot? This didn’t make sense. Only her people used guns. And the Grounders didn’t hang people. But she didn’t recognize her and The Mountain Men were all dead. Her clothes looked almost modern, not the scavenged and repurposed styles of Grounders. But if she was shot, then it could only have been her people, right? 

Her hair was the most distinctive thing Clarke noticed -- silvery grey, shaved close on the sides and longer, messier on top. It was strikingly pure against the lurid scene. There was a strange shadow along one side, above the ear that had drawn Clarke from behind the fallen tree. As she crouched down to get a better look, she saw that it was some sort of a code tattooed onto the girl’s scalp. Steeling her nerves, she rolled the girl onto her back to see if there was anything else she could find out.

She was still warm. This had happened recently. Clarke instinctively felt for the pistol at her thigh, making sure it was ready should whoever caused this decide to return. As she reached out to feel for a pulse, she suddenly felt an iron grip around her wrist as the eye that was not swollen shut shot open and fixed to hers. Like her hair, the girl’s iris was grey, but darker. It was like looking into storm clouds converging in the sky.

They stared at each other for a long moment before the girl’s hands, still bound, loosened their grip on Clarke’s wrist.

“Can you understand me?”

Clarke’s own voice surprised her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had used it, had needed it. She wasn’t sure she had even spoken aloud until she received a millimeter nod in response. 

“Are they going to come back for you?”

The girl gave the slightest shake of her head.

“Are you going to try and hurt me?”

Another small shake.

“I’m going to untie you now. But I will kill you if you try anything.”

The girl responded with a slow single-eye blink of understanding.

Clarke loosened the noose around the girl’s neck, wincing as she felt the rope unsticking from being embedded into flesh. The girl was utterly still, despite what pain Clarke knew she must be feeling. The eye trained on her was unmoving, boring into her. Clarke’s skin prickled as her mind allowed a flashback to what it felt like to be stared at like that from another set of all-seeing eyes. 

She returned to her task, using her knife to slice through the ropes around the girl’s wrists, the tender skin exposed, blistered and raw from struggle.

The girl rolled over onto her knees, bracing herself on her palms and hissing as the skin of her wrists flexed and she drew in breath against her crushed throat. Clarke unhooked her canteen and held it out, the girl took it and drank a few small sips before handing it back, never taking her eye off Clarke. Clarke could have sworn she saw the barest hint of a smile accompanying the tiny nod of thanks before fading back to impassiveness. Another reminder of Lexa. The Commander would be her own layer in Clarke’s slowly forming armor.

“Can you walk? I don’t want to make camp here in case your friends come back for you.”

In answer, the girl slowly rose to her feet, wincing a little as she attempted to stand, unseen injuries keeping her posture stooped, one arm hanging limply at her side. Clarke guessed that they were about the same height, though slightly different builds. The way her clothes hung, she was more muscular, athletic, strong, despite being beaten and bloodied. Clarke hoped she could trust that she wouldn’t be attacked. If she somehow found herself without her knife or gun, she was pretty sure she would lose. And who’s to say this girl couldn’t strip her of her weapons should she decide to anyway? But she also didn’t  _ feel _ in any sort of danger. Despite the weirdness of the situation, Clarke felt oddly at ease in this stranger’s presence.

They began to walk, the girl following silently to wherever Clarke was leading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... she stepped forward and was swallowed by the darkness just as the first raindrops began to fall.

Clarke and the girl watched each other across the small fire, each leaning against a tree, silently chewing the dried meat and berries Clarke had pulled from her satchel. The girl had made no effort to speak -- Clarke didn’t expect she’d be able to for at least a week given the injuries around her neck -- but Clarke couldn’t shake this strange sensation that she was somehow both totally alone and completely absorbed by the girl in front of her. 

“What should I call you?” Clarke asked.

The girl regarded her for a moment, chewing slowly, before holding up her hand and folded all but a single finger down. She then raised her other three her fingers up, keeping her thumb against her palm.

One. Four. Fourteen.

“Your name is ‘Fourteen’?”

A small nod.

“Are you from here?”

14 looked around her, into the dark forest beyond the glow of the campfire as if she would be able to recognize her surroundings in the pitch black. She turned back to Clarke and shook her head. 

“Are there others like you?”

She nodded, but Clarke got the impression that they were also nowhere nearby. Through the flicker and dancing shadows of the fire, Clarke watched 14 watching her, sure she could see the fear, sadness, and the despair that only comes with utter betrayal and heartbreak. Maybe they had this in common. Then again, maybe she was just projecting. Maybe this girl had already found the practiced numbness and calm that Clarke so desperately sought to build within herself.

Clarke stretched out onto the ground, lying on her side, facing the fire, facing the girl.

Another slow-blink and slight tilt of 14’s head that seemed to say “Rest now. I will watch over you.” Again, Clarke wasn’t sure if she was imagining thoughts behind that grey eye, but what other choice did she have but to trust this stranger while she slept?  
  


 

Clarke awoke with a sudden jolt, images of burned bodies and their screams fading into her subconscious as the living world around her came into focus. The fire was down to low embers in the watery light of dawn. And there was no one at the tree in front of her. 

She sat up, hand flying to her side. Her gun was still there, but her knife and canteen were missing. Cursing to herself, she started to get to her feet. She would need to stop by the trading post that had been taking in her larger game kills, preserving the meat, and giving a portion back to Clarke as payment. This time, she would have to forgo some of her food to replace her fucking knife and fucking canteen.

Clarke was surprised by the anger she felt, and also by the hurt. She didn’t know this girl. Of course as soon as Clarke had fallen asleep she would take a weapon and disappear into the forest. It’s what Clarke had done. 

The soft crunch of approaching footsteps sent Clarke’s heart racing as she drew her gun in one fluid motion and had it aimed directly at 14’s chest when she half-limped, half-walked into camp. In one hand was Clarke’s knife, and in the other, a rabbit, cleaned and dressed, along with a few sprigs of some greenery Clarke couldn’t make out at this distance. The canteen swung heavily at her side as she came to a stop.

Clarke lowered her gun as 14 continued her slow approach towards the dying fire. She didn’t allow herself to feel foolish. Trusting a stranger was foolish, but drawing her gun was surviving and at this moment, there wasn’t more to her life than that.

Clarke moved towards the fire and knelt down across from 14 as the girl began to thread the meat onto the leafy sticks. Without looking up from her task, 14 handed the knife back to Clarke, the blade gleaming and clean, not a drop of blood on it, nor on any of the rabbit, and Clarke scolded herself for the brief flush of relief she felt at not having to see blood first thing in the morning. She busied herself building up the fire again so it was ready when 14 handed her what she immediately smelled as rosemary sprigs speared through the pieces of meat.

They ate in companionable silence -- not that there was much other choice, Clarke thought, as her eyes strayed across the deep bruise line wrapping around 14’s neck. She was actually surprised at how much better the damage around 14’s face was looking, and her movements didn’t seem quite so stiff, especially considering the state she’d been in only the day before. Maybe Clarke had overestimated the severity of her wounds. 

After stomping out the fire, they began their slow march again. While 14’s condition had certainly improved over the near-dead state Clarke had found her in, she was still limping and needed to take frequent breaks to catch her breath. When they stopped, Clarke would hand 14 her canteen and watch her, wondering just what wounds her dark clothing was keeping covered and how much longer 14 would be able to keep going without medical attention.  
  
  


Clarke didn’t have a destination in mind as she’d just been travelling the same few square miles these past weeks, hunting, sleeping, stopping by the Grounder trading post, and returning to her solitude where she was free to let her mind replay an endless loop of the horrors and failures of her past. 

By late afternoon, the temperature had turned noticeably chilly, the air electric, and the sky darkened with the promise of an approaching storm. 

They had hiked up to a small elevation from which they could look out across the lower ground below, trees and open sky more visible than in the depths of the forest. They stopped when they came across a mound of earth with a large cutaway at it’s base, tree roots and ivy overgrowing from the space above down to the ground below. In the waning light and shadow of the vegetation, it was impossible to see how far back the recess went. They looked at each other and 14 gave a small shrug before motioning that she would investigate. It was the shrug that Clarke found… amusing? Almost like 14 was trying to be friendly. Or, again, maybe Clarke was seeing what she wanted to see. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this solitude thing. 

At the largest gap in the overhanging roots, 14 paused and turned back to Clarke, who unfastened her knife and held it out. With the knife in her hand and a quick nod, 14 disappeared into the overgrowth. Clarke looked behind her at the rapidly darkening sky, feeling the roll of thunder vibrating through the ground and into her chest. She hoped this was not the den of some bear or god forbid another gorilla. She really didn’t want to spend the night shivering in the impending downpour. She wasn’t even sure if 14 would survive it. 

Clarke watched flashes of lightning in the distance for another long moment before turning back towards the crevice where there was now a hand extending outwards from the shadows. Taking a deep breath, she took the hand in hers, briefly noting the surprising warmth and slight roughness of 14’s palm as she stepped forward and was swallowed by the darkness just as the first raindrops began to fall.  
  


 

The ground sloped downward as Clarke followed the gentle pull of 14’s hand in hers, soft earth giving way to hard concrete. Her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness when she felt 14 stop in front of her. Clarke could make out that they were on some kind of landing, a solid structure in front of them, but the only light left in the inky shadows were the tiny pinpricks through the foliage behind them. 

Still holding hands, Clarke was startled when she felt 14’s other hand press at the gun strapped to her thigh. Instantly, her hand flew to cover 14’s, just as 14 gave the hand she was still holding a reassuring squeeze. Clarke wished she could see her face, to read what she might be thinking, but in the space of a heartbeat, she had to decide whether to trust this girl. Again. 

Slowly, Clarke moved her hand away and heard the faint click as 14 released the gun from it’s holster and her hand from Clarke’s. 

Clarke jumped when she heard the first loud bang -- not of gunfire, but the butt of the gun being hit against some metal surface she couldn’t see. Three more loud cracks, then she felt 14 reholster the gun before the sound of a lever being pulled and the whoosh of a seal being broken sent faint light spilling into the tunnel where they stood.

14’s face was awash in a dim golden glow as she looked back at Clarke before turning and stepping into the light.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just an iteration. Another generation of us to be used for experiments and data collection. The pursuit of perfecting the formula.”

Using her hunting knife, Clarke cut a line up 14’s shirt from waist to collarbone. She remembered the scalpel in her hand, helping her mom in surgery back on the Ark. Back when everyone was ‘her people’ and her choices were still her own.

She peeled back the flaps of fabric to reveal a topographical history of pain on the skin below. Her eyes watered and she looked up at 14’s face, eyes still closed, the bruising already fading from deep blue to a sickly green around the edges.

The biggest cut was nearly closed and neither it nor the obviously newer ones showed signs of infection. Clarke allowed her fingertips to trace the constellations of some of the older scars and marveled at how smooth and faint they were.

“What should I call you?” 14’s scratchy, raw voice broke the silence.

Clarke jumped. She had no idea how long 14 had been awake, but she looked alert as the fire burning behind Clarke reflected brightly against her monochromatic irises.

“Clarke.” She watched 14 silently roll the taste of it around her mouth before continuing. “You look like you’re healing well… remarkably well, actually.”

Clarke paused, her eyebrows knitting together, debating whether to ask about this miraculous healing, about whoever had left her hanging from that tree, about the numerous scars and the tattoo and her strange hair and eye color. Though questions about 14 might lead to questions about Clarke...

“How long was I out?” 14 hadn’t taken the bait. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed.

“Since yesterday. I think. I’m not sure, actually. I slept a long time, too, and it’s still pouring, Maybe it’s been days.” Clarke smiled. It felt weird. But good in this moment. They were warm. They were safe. She had slept dreamlessly.

She watched 14’s face as she processed this information, watched as 14’s eyes searched hers before roaming around the room, taking in the wood-burning stove, the shelf overflowing with well-worn books, the small galley and storage area, the unmade bed where Clarke had slept, and finally back to Clarke as she sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa where 14 lay stretched out, torso exposed.

Clarke felt heat rise to her cheeks when 14’s eyes locked back on hers, watching as her hand rose to touch Clarke’s still damp hair, eyebrows raised in question.

“There’s a shower. With hot water. And clean clothes. And food. The people who were here before left a note. They’ve been gone for 2 years.”

If 14’s eyes were like a constant storm, then slow, small smile that spread across her dirt and blood covered face was a break in the clouds, sunlight spilling through the churning darkness. Clarke knew the feeling; she knew what it felt like to have hot tears roll over her cheeks as they mingled with the cascading water, bringing release amid the stifled sobs while she watched the filth and grime, weeks of solitude and survival, swirl down the drain.

In one lithe movement, 14 was on her feet and moving towards the door off of the galley, unfastening her pants as she went until she was only in her black sports bra and tight black shorts, revealing an entirely new universe of scars across her back and thighs before she closed the door behind her and the hiss of running water and steam filled the air.

 

Clarke’s face was tilted upwards, watching the water droplets as they thrummed loudly on the skylight, the rain having continued it’s downpour for another day into night. She leaned against one armrest as 14 faced her from the other, eating her dinner.

“Are you going to tell me why your injuries look like they’ve been healing for weeks instead of days?” Clarke asked, shifting her focus to 14.

14 raised her head, chewing slowly, grey eyes locked on blue. Clarke suddenly felt like she may have made a grave miscalculation. Getting thrown into these life or death situations had a tendency of creating an unearned sense of intimacy and trust.

_Clarke was back in that tent, softly taking Lexa’s lower lip between her own as she deepened their kiss, feeling Lexa’s rough palm gently cradling her neck, her thumb brushing so lightly against the sensitive skin below her ear._

“Are you going to tell me why the leader of The Sky People isn’t with her camp, but instead wandering the woods, seemingly unaware of the enormous bounty on her head?” 14 replied, casually.

Clarke’s eyes went wide. Every nerve in her body was electrified, tensed, telling her to run. Twelve paces to the door, another forty until she’s in the woods. Five to her bed. Could she make it to her gun hidden under the pillow before 14 realized what was happening? Would 14 even try to stop her? Could she shoot her? Could she kill her?

She needed more information first. She would be smart. Then she would run.

“I thought you said you and your people weren’t from here,” Clarke said, trying to stay composed.

“They’re not. I’m not. You, your people, The Grounders, The Mountain Men. The gameboard is much bigger than all of them. Even Heda’s coalition is only just a single move in a long line of turns. There are other players further away who are making their moves, too. I was just one of the pieces and I know of some of the others still in play,” 14 answered. “But I’m not on the board anymore,” she added pointedly.

Not for the first time, the gulf between what Clarke thought she knew and understood in this world and how small it was compared with the wider truth knocked the wind out of her. 14 didn't just know about her people, but of Lexa, the clan coalition, and probably even their failed alliance. How much else did she know about the shifting power struggles of this new world the Sky People had crashed into?

And for all that she had bled, cried, and ached since the dropship door first opened, 14 made it seem like it was nothing more than the chess pieces she and Wells had slid across checkered squares miles above, lifetimes ago. The brief respite from sickening despair she had felt since waking up was over as it uncoiled to writhe again in her belly.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more answers to give you,” 14 added, her face guileless as she looked into Clarke’s eyes.

“What does this have to do with your injuries?” Clarke needed to stay focused.

14 broke their eye contact, turning back to the fire. “Humans are remarkably frail,” she mused. ”Just a single cut, if left to fester, could kill a healthy person within a few days, a body ravaged by fever and pain, growing weaker until it simply… expires. And even if you do manage to survive -- if you’re _lucky_ \-- it can take weeks, sometimes months or years to recover. Before the bombs started to fall, my people were trying to find way to make soldiers, assassins, agents -- the name would have been decided by whoever bought the tech -- _better_ at not dying. _Better_ at surviving.”

_Because that’s all there is anymore_ , Clarke thought, darkly.

“And you’re one of these ‘soldiers’?”

14’s closed her eyes briefly, drawing in a slow, deep breath through her nose before continuing. “Just an iteration. Another generation of us to be used for experiments and data collection. The pursuit of perfecting the formula.”

_Perfecting_. Clarke thought back to the array of immaculately healed scars, most so thin they looked like white lines painted by a brush made from a single hair onto the smooth, tawny skin covering 14’s well-muscled body. She studied 14’s face and was suddenly dumbstruck at just how, well, perfect it was. In the few days they had known each other, the swelling was already gone and the bruising so faint it was nearly invisible, revealing perfectly symmetrical, perfectly proportioned features. Clarke remembered noticing that even when her face was covered in dried blood and dirt and swollen beyond recognition, her teeth had been gleaming white and straight.

14 _was_ perfect.

Except for the scars. Except for whatever still haunted her as it passed like a shadow over her face sometimes.

“What are they trying to perfect?” Clarke asked.

“I’m not sure. Telling us what they wanted to achieve from each experiment would contaminate the results.”

“How many of you are there?” Clarke asked.

“I was the last one.”

“The Fourteenth,” Clarke murmured, watching as 14 gave a slight nod.

“How long do they study--” Clarke bit off her sentence, but 14 seemed unfazed by its implication.

“There are rumours that the group 2 generations before us were 11 when their data sets had been completed,” 14 stated, shrugging slightly. “The oldest we heard about was a single subject who was terminated after 25 years.”

“How many of your generation are left?”

“Four, including me. Though, if you mean ‘my people’, I’m honestly not sure. There were hundreds of scientists and their families all living there when the world ended. But we were usually kept away from anyone not directly involved with our development.”

Clarke felt a mixture of terror and sadness and revulsion at the dispassionate way 14 was describing her existence. She was meat grown in a lab, disposed of when the experiments were complete. Data to be recorded and analyzed by scientists. The continuing evolution of a plan whose architects had been dead for decades.

The more she thought about the circumstances of 14’s “death,” it was obvious that this was not the sterile termination of a test subject.

“But why did they try to kill you? Why like that?”

Again, 14 looked away from Clarke and focused on the fire. Clarke’s heart began to pound.

“Because I stopped following their orders,” 14 replied flatly.

Despite the finality of the statement, Clarke remained quiet, hopeful that 14 would continue.

“All test subjects are paired with someone who would become part of the next generation of researchers. They were the ones who administered most of the tests, recorded the results, monitored us. We all lived together. Trained together. But we were never supposed to become--” 14 stopped mid-sentence. Clarke watched as she clenched her jaw, eyes closing for another long moment before opening again and fixing to hers. They were glassy and Clarke felt her own eyes stinging with tears.

“Every rule was explicit and if you didn’t act alone, one of you must die by the other’s hand,” 14 explained. “Death is an effective deterrent, even for those of us who know our time is otherwise limited.”

_Clarke felt Finn’s hot blood spilling out onto her hand as she slid the small knife between his ribs and could see the anguish in Lexa’s eyes as she drove her sword through Gustus’ chest. She heard Atom’s last gurgling breaths and watched her father’s body as it was ripped into the freezing vacuum of space._

14 paused again, swallowing hard. Her voice was quiet, low, as she continued, “But sometimes… even knowing the consequences, you can’t stop-- I wanted to be the one to die. She wouldn’t do it. And I couldn’t kill her.”

“What happened to her?” Clarke’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know. When neither of us would finish it, they took her away and brought me to that tree.”

Clarke wondered what fate had delivered her two warriors, both broken by the same weakness.

She scooted towards 14’s side of the couch, reaching out her hand and gently placing it on 14’s forearm, realizing as she felt her trembling that this was probably the first time that 14 had allowed herself to think about -- to grieve for -- her loss. Everything happened so fast in this world. She moved her hand to 14’s neck, her fingertips feeling the slight prickle of the close-cropped hair behind her ear. She pulled gently, drawing 14 in towards her, felt strong arms wrap around her, squeezing hard as 14’s body shook with silent sobs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is no glory, no power in killing Wanheda if you cannot see the light leave her eyes.”

Clarke paced from the galley to the front door and back again, sometimes detouring around the table or to her bed while 14 reclined on the sofa, reading one of the paperbacks she had pulled from the shelf.

It had been almost a week, the constant plinking of rain against the skylight having replaced the crisp sound of leaves under Clarke’s feet as she’d gone from hiking for hours each a day to keep her body alive -- for food, for warmth -- to walking laps around the bunker trying to maintain her sanity. She hadn’t realized how… feral… she had allowed herself -- needed herself -- to become during the time she’d spent in the forest. She felt like a caged animal as she stopped at the front door, debating whether to run out into the freezing, unending deluge.

“If you’re looking for adventure, there are plenty of books to choose from,” 14 quipped without looking up from her pages, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Clarke glared at her.

“How can you stand being trapped in here?”

“I’m used to it,” replied 14, eyes still scanning the book in her hands.

Clarke imagined 14 sitting alone in a room, waiting for the next assignment. The next round of tests. In her mind, it was white and sterile, like the one she’d been kept in when she was first brought to Mount Weather. She’d escaped then, too.

“Well I’m not. I feel like can't breathe in here,” Clarke said, exhaling heavily.

“It’s not safe out there,” 14 said, finally looking up from her book. “For you,” she added.

“I can take care of myself,” Clarke shot back, bristling at the implication she hadn’t been surviving for weeks on her own, long before finding 14’s body in the woods. She turned back to the door.

“If I wanted it, you would be dead before the first drop of rain could touch your head.” 14 said, folding down a page of her book and putting it on the coffee table before looking back up at Clarke.

Clarke’s hand froze on the door’s lever as a burst of adrenaline radiated from her core to her extremities. The electric feeling immediately replaced with the cold certainty that 14 was not bluffing.

“But I’m not going to stop you. I will say that you are safe. Here. Out there…” 14 waved her hand towards the world beyond the door.

“The bounty, you mean?” Clarke asked. Maybe she would finally get her answers.

“Yes. And those who might just want you for themselves. The power of Wanheda is an alluring proposition.”

Clarke opened her mouth slightly before closing it again as 14 continued.

“You are a hero, a legend, among The Grounders. Did you know that? The Mountain Men have been taking their people for longer than any of them can remember. Their greatest enemy. And you -- you, The Sky Commander -- wiped them out in a single night. You, who had burned an army of the fiercest warriors only weeks before, also felled their greatest foe, leaving no survivors. You are no longer The Sky Commander, Clarke. You are Wanheda: The Commander of Death,” 14 said.

Clarke felt sick. She didn’t even care how 14 knew all of these details. She just wanted her to stop talking so she could stop reliving the feeling of Bellamy’s hand on hers after she decided to end them all. He had been trying to give her strength, to show her that she has support, that she was not alone. But it had been her decision. It always was.

14’s voice pulled Clarke back to the present.

“The Grounders believe that to kill a warrior is to take their power. Is there anything more powerful to command than Death?” 14 seemed lost in her own thoughts for a moment. “Azgeda’s Queen has put a bounty on your head, but I would guess she isn’t the only one who would like The Power of Wanheda in their veins. The Commander--” 14 stopped abruptly seeing the dark mask fall over Clarke’s features.

The knot in Clarke’s stomach morphed into the clearest and purest rage at the mention of Lexa. The fortress she had been building around her feelings cracked open in an instant and she wondered if The Commander, if _Lexa_ , would always be the skeleton key to her most primal emotions.

“You hate her.” It wasn’t a question.

“She left us to die at Mount Weather. We had a treaty, an alliance, and she betrayed us. What I did after that was what I had to do to save my people.” Clarke had rehearsed this narrative in her head in the many hours she’d spent walking through the trees. “We trusted her. _I_ trusted her. I thought that our people could live in peace together and she deserted us. So, yes. I hate her.” Clarke tried to keep her voice steady. She needed to appear -- to feel -- like she was still strong.

“Do you want to kill her?” 14 asked.

“Yes.” Clarke didn’t hesitate.

 _Jus drein jus daun_. Blood must have blood.

She had thought of killing The Commander dozens of times, and always after one of the dreams were where Lexa had come to her, unbidden, uninvited. And when she woke, caught in the space between worlds, she could still feel the damp heat on her fingers, her lips; she could taste Lexa’s own need for her on her tongue. Before the mirage on her fingertips could evaporate, she would force herself to imagine it was Lexa’s blood instead. In those moments she promised to avenge the innocent lives she’d had no other recourse but to extinguish. She promised to avenge her own lost innocence.

“You might get your chance,” 14 said. “After abandoning you to certain death and having Wanheda rise from the ashes of their greatest enemy, I’m sure even The Commander is trying to find you.” 14 studied her for a moment, before she seemed to decide something. “And you will be ready when she does.”

In one graceful move, 14 was off the sofa and pushing it back against the bed alcove. She then slid the coffee table to the wall so the entire main room was open. 14 looked around, satisfied with her makeshift ludus and walked towards Clarke.

“Death will not come for either of you unseen,” 14 said, as she continued moving forward. “It will not be an arrow loosed from the trees or a bullet fired from afar. She will be no further from you than your outstretched arm,” 14 finished, her face now only inches from Clarke’s.

Clarke felt a chill shudder through her body and was sure 14 could feel the air tremble, they were so close. Neither moved, their eyes locked; a cloudless sky reflected against an unending storm, and Clark’s pounding heart like thunder in her ears. She could feel the soft puff of breath as 14’s voice lowered to just above a whisper when she spoke again.

“There is no glory, no power in killing Wanheda if you cannot see the light leave her eyes.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re so much more down here than you ever could have been up there.”

Clarke flexed her fingers, shifting her weight slightly to her rear foot, her focus trained on 14’s core. Eyes are deceptive. Limbs are aftershocks. Watch the body if you want to know where the next strike is coming from.

14 rocked from side to side before exploding forward as Clarke pivoted on her lead leg, moving her head out from the path of 14’s fist and timing a well-placed kick to the back of 14’s thigh. 14 used the momentum from Clarke’s kick to spin around, raising her elbow behind her just as Clarke rose onto the ball of her foot, driving a knee towards 14 as she continued her turn.

Clarke felt a heavy crack against her face, her vision exploding into stars, as her knee drove deeply into 14’s abdomen. Clarke stood over 14, splayed on her back, the knife that had been in her hand now well out of reach.

Her triumphant smile fell immediately as 14’s face swam back into focus, bringing with it pain and the wet, hot feeling of blood as it cascaded from her nose over her mouth and chin. The physical sensation was secondary as she took in 14’s expression: jaw clenched and nostrils flared as her throat worked around a visible swallow, every muscle in her body tensed and trembling. 14 stared back at her with a predatory ferocity Clarke had never seen before. She froze, instinct overwhelming her conscious mind as her heart raced and her breath caught in her lungs.

Clarke blinked, her own eyes starting to water from the pain and when she opened them again, everything she thought she had seen play across 14’s face was gone and she looked normal again, the usual calm restored to her delicate features. 14 gave Clarke a short nod of approval as she rose to her feet and walked to the galley, returning with a clean rag and a bowl.

“For the blood. If you swallow too much of it, you’ll feel sick.” 14’s uncanny ability to answer questions before they had passed Clarke’s lips used to make her uncomfortable. Now, it was just part of their rapport, though Clarke was often frustrated as she was still held outside 14’s guarded demeanor unless granted access. Except for whatever she had just witnessed. That glimpse, she was sure, had been an unintentional and uncontrolled peek behind the veil. Fierce, frenzied, and absolutely terrifying.

While Clarke put the cloth to her nose (and spit a mouthful of blood into the bowl), 14 moved the furniture back to their usual places and steered Clarke towards the couch. They sat as they always did, each leaned against an armrest facing each other, breathing heavily, sweat still glistening on their skin.

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose and tilted her head back, trying to not think about the metallic taste of blood trickling down the back of her throat. She almost choked, however, when she saw the skylight.

14’s eyes followed hers and before Clarke could think about what she was doing she was sprinting across the room. She yanked the door open and ran up the shadowed path towards the trees, stopping just at the edge of the darkness, 14 at her side.

The forest was completely quiet, a thin blanket of white covering the ground. Clarke was speechless, her eyes wide and full of wonder. A small bubble of laughter passed her lips. _Snow_ . The weeks of monotonous, thundering rain had finally given way to the glorious silence of snowfall and Clarke thought back to the moment the dropship door had opened and she had never seen anything as beautiful as _Earth_ in front of her.

Clarke stepped from the overhang, gingerly putting her bare foot into the few inches of powdery white. She marvelled at just how _cold_ it was, how soft it felt under the weight of her body as it crunched and compressed between her toes. She watched as fat snowflakes landed on her bare arms, dissolving instantly into water drops and how they stuck, unmelted, to her hair and eyelashes. Clarke turned back to see 14 still in shadow, looking at her with a gentleness she rarely displayed, a slight smile appearing as Clarke extended her hand to 14 and pulled her into the fading daylight.

 

Clarke and 14 lay on their backs, heads turned to face one another, watching the snowflakes fall and steam rise from their exposed skin into the growing darkness. The melting snow under her body felt good against her sore muscles and the bruises she had accumulated under 14’s instruction over the past few weeks.

Clarke closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She could feel the air, cold, slightly humid, as it moved past her tongue, down her throat and into her lungs. It tasted so different from the air she had breathed on the Ark -- recycled exhalations passed through the scrubbers, the oxygen levels kept at “livable” conditions. The air was so pure, so immense and unlimited down here she felt almost drunk as her ribs expanded.

“Have you ever seen snow before?” Clarke asked, marvelling at the clouds hovering in front of her face as her breath evaporated into the frigid air.

“Not like this.” 14 replied, her voice low and soft, as if the magic of this moment would disappear if she spoke too loudly. Her grey eyes looked lighter, almost glowing, as they reflected the snow, filled with the same awe Clarke knew must be etched on her own face

They looked at each other, at the snow sticking to the trees behind them, for another long moment before a wave of cold sent a spasm through Clarke’s body and she had to stop her teeth from chattering.

In an instant, 14 was on her feet and extended her arm to Clarke. She grasped 14’s forearm, feeling 14’s hand wrap around her own, and was pulled to her feet effortlessly.

“Let me see that,” said 14, as she held out her hand to receive the rag she had given Clarke earlier, now soaked through with blood.

14 knelt in front of Clarke and she watched as 14 squeezed it in her fist, tiny rivulets of blood seeping out from between her fingers and falling into the snow, garish red against the fresh powder. Spreading the cloth on the ground, 14 scooped a handful of snow into the center before twisting the rag into a ball and handing it back. The bleeding from Clarke’s nose had slowed to barely a drip, but the cold felt good on her face as they walked back through the tunnel, leaving her blood to melt through the snow and soak into the ground beneath.

 

Clarke closed her eyes as 14’s fingertips gently pressed against the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, her jaw.

“It’s not broken, but you’ll probably have a black eye. Maybe two.” 14 said as she finished her examination. “You did well. Next time, you’ll see the counter attack coming. Or at least block it with less of your face.” 14 allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of her mouth and slid back to her side of the couch. Clarke felt a flush of pride at both her improved technique in the few weeks of training she’d had and at being gifted with 14’s rare praise.

Clarke ran her tongue over her upper lip. It felt swollen. Alien. Hot. Raw and alive.

“How does it work? How do you heal the way you do?” Clarke asked, thinking about her own recovery as she held a fresh, snow-filled cloth to her nose.

14 studied her for a long moment, slowly biting her bottom lip, taking an eternity to choose her words.

“The science a hundred years ago was focused on nanotechnology -- how to merge humans and machines at the cellular level. Some were trying to find ways to enhance human consciousness. The ones who… _designed_ me were trying to improve the body. They wanted to figure out how not just to heal, but how to heal efficiently, without draining resources of the host. The first part was an easy solve: stem cells.”

“They can be turned into any cell that might need repair,” Clarke offered.

“Exactly. What if a pint of blood held enough cells that when reverted back to stem cells, could heal a gunshot wound overnight? What if a broken leg was strong enough to run on in a day?” 14 paused again, letting Clarke imagine the possibilities. “The second part was more elusive. It takes a tremendous amount of energy at the molecular level to regenerate tissue. But what if you could--” again, 14 took a moment to select her words carefully, “-- _take_ blood from an external source and have _those_ cells turn into the stem cells? Code embedded in our DNA can do that. It also makes an unappealing environment for infection.”

 _Jus drein, jus daun. Blood must have blood,_ Clarke thought darkly, the irony of its inescapability not lost on her.

“Soldiers could heal themselves from those they had killed,” Clarke mumbled, realization of what was sitting in front of her finally coming into focus. Still, if they had already figured out this technology, then what else were they trying to fix? What perfection still eluded their formulas?

“Does it make you… immortal?” Clarke felt silly even asking and could feel herself blushing when she saw 14’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, the crinkles at the edges of her eyes smoothing as they became reflective and serious again.

“No. But it felt that way sometimes.”

Clarke swallowed hard and nodded, trying not to imagine the tortures 14 and her siblings must have endured.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts as they watched the flames licking the inside of the fireplace.

“Do you ever wish things were different?” 14 asked, not taking her eyes from the flames.

Clarke thought back to a few months ago, when she was in solitary confinement on the Ark, certain she would be floated the moment she turned 18. Within days of landing on the ground, she’d had to end her first life, a small knife plunged into a boy’s jugular as she became merciful death. Many, _many_ more lives had followed. Maybe they would all still be alive if she hadn’t stepped foot on this planet.

“Sometimes. Do you?”

“No.” 14 didn’t hesitate.

“Why?”

“Because how do I know it would be any better than this?” 14 asked, her eyes boring straight through the layers Clarke had constructed around her core as if they were nothing more than thin paper.

There were few people who could see through all the lies she had told herself to the truth in her bones. Wells had been one of them. And Lexa. Clarke felt dissected and exposed under 14’s gaze as she knew 14 could see the how she longed for redemption, for reprieve. Everything was for her people. Every mass-murder and genocide and and trigger pull and blood soaked hand. And sometimes she did wish that she could trade it all in for a different fate. Maybe in another reality, the oxygen systems wouldn’t have failed, her father wouldn’t be dead, and she would have lived a simple life among her people, surrounded by stars, leaving the return to Earth for future generations.

As if she knew what Clarke was considering -- because she always knew -- 14 spoke again.

“You’re so much more down here than you ever could have been up there.”

But maybe, Clarke thought, the greater good would have been for them to have stayed in space, lifeless corpses adrift for eternity when the Ark suffocated them all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No,” Clarke replied, honestly. “But… I think I wanted to.”
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this one. Thanks for sticking with it. Comments always welcome.

Clarke swiped her palm across the fogged mirror. She recognized the blue eyes staring back at her, but it was like someone had taken a photograph and moved the camera just as the shutter closed so the girl in the mirror only resembled the memory she had of herself. She looked at the faded bruising beneath her eye, her sharp jawline as it met her neck, flowing down to her prominent collar bones and bare shoulders, shadows swirling around the  definition in her upper arms.

She remembered that first night in this room as she’d wept silently under the running water, scrubbing away weeks in the wilderness, her fingertips tracing over the bony protrusions of her hips, the pronounced ridges of her ribs. If The Commander had come for her then, for Wanheda, she wouldn’t have had the strength to deny her. Now, as she looked down, she was still lean, but the harsh lines of starvation had been softened by a new, thin sheathing of muscle that rippled and flexed as she lifted her arm to run her fingers through her hair.

14 had offered her a different path in her pursuit to become the lessons of The Commander -- one not predicated on mental walls and self flagellation. It was 14’s physicality that drove her, an existence based on what her body could do and what others could learn from it and Clarke was her apt pupil.

Clarke welcomed stretching in the mornings before training, feeling the satisfying burn in her sleepy muscles as her brain shut off whatever it  had been reliving or planning since she’d opened her eyes and let her focus shift to the present. Under 14’s instruction, she was emerging as contender in her own right, much like Octavia, she thought, as Octavia had studied under Indra, transforming into a Trikru warrior.

But she and 14 had also been trapped together in this strange purgatory, waiting for more habitable conditions outside, so how much of their relationship had been only due to circumstance? In another life, would 14 have been sent to kill her--another move in the game of unseen players? In another life -- the weeks she was wandering alone -- would she have welcomed beautiful death with open arms?

As Clarke dressed for bed, stepping into the tight shorts that served as underwear and pulling a loose-fitting tank top over her head, she let her fingers trace across her skin, hyper aware of how foreign the light, almost tickling sensation now felt. It had been months since she and Finn had fallen into bed together, two teenagers lost and afraid at the end of the world. It played in her mind in sharp contrast to the delicate, searching kiss in Lexa’s tent, neither of them having the freedom to give themselves away in a moment of youthful passion. But the hunger and fire she felt in the press of their lips had been more potent than anything Clarke knew could exist between people, different than anything she had ever felt before. For anyone. And here she was now, waiting out the winter in a bunker with a stranger she’d found hanged in the woods, learning to fight so that should The Commander ever return, Clarke would be prepared to kill her.

She leaned against the bathroom doorway watching 14 stretched out on the couch, reading one of the many paperbacks previous travelers had left. Even she looked different than the day they crossed the threshold to this temporary life. The tattoos above her ear long since hidden by a shaggy mop of slate and silver hair, injuries healed into their normal faded white lines, and her eyes shone bright like river rocks under a flowing stream, the haunted shadows passing over them less frequently.

Clarke remembered the first time she had crawled onto the sofa with 14. She was standing next to the couch looking at the fire, too restless for sleep to come and too tired to be productive, the only sounds in the world were the pattering of rain above, the soft pops and hisses from the fireplace, and the wispy crackle of a page turning every few minutes. 14 had looked up from her book, her eyes offering a silent invitation which Clarke had answered by climbing in next to her, the length of their bodies pressed against each other. She remembered the warmth radiating from 14, the feeling of her body’s natural rise and fall as she breathed, and the soft timbre of her voice as she began to read aloud. It was comforting and innocent in ways that had made Clarke’s heart ache.

When Clarke got up from the couch to go to her bed, finally exhausted and soothed into drowsiness, 14 had made no move to follow; and on days where Clarke had woken in her bed with no memory of having left the sofa the night before, she would open her eyes and see unkempt hair poking up over the armrest, silhouetted against the dying embers in the fireplace behind them. 

In those few minutes of the calm morning before her anguish and self loathing had stirred, she would sometimes compare the ways 14 and Lexa were similar; ways that she would allow herself to dwell on and ways that she would push from her mind before they could take root, only to pace at the periphery of her thoughts.

Clarke walked from the bathroom towards the fireplace, stopping in front of on the sofa, inches from 14’s outstretched arm, her fingers dangling off the edge of the couch. She watched 14’s eyes as they tracked line by line on the page, seemingly unaware of Clarke’s presence (which Clarke knew wasn’t true). She felt her heart begin to pound as a flash of adrenaline surged through her, so different than the steady drip during their sparring sessions. Steeling her nerves, Clarke shifted her weight slightly, so that the side of her thigh made contact with the tips of 14’s fingers. Just barely.

“Mmm?” 14 hummed as she turned to face Clarke, her eyes taking in the warm skin now touching her fingertips, her gaze slowly following a path from Clarke’s thigh until their eyes met.

Before she could let all of the doubt and terror of this moment drown her resolve, Clarke bent down to hook one of her fingers around 14’s and with a gentle tug, 14 was on her feet.

They stared at each other for a long moment, half of their faces dancing in firelight, half in shadow. 14 was completely still, the only movement the slight rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed, her eyes not moving a millimeter from Clarke’s.

Clarke took a deep breath and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to 14’s. In the space of a heartbeat that felt like it spanned an eternity, Clarke was terrified she had made a huge mistake.

To say that she might have “misread” signals would mean there would have been signals at all. In the weeks that they had known each other, while completely absorbed in each other’s bodies, they had never crossed into anything besides respectfully platonic; gaze or touch never lingered on bare skin.

And then, she felt 14’s lips slide against hers, at first softly, then growing in intensity, suddenly feeling like sparks thrown into a powder keg. It was raw, and passionate and desperate for all of the pain they’d each been forced to endure and the solace they had found in each other. Clarke panted against 14’s lips as she felt an arm wrap around her waist, a hand searching gently under her shirt, the searing heat of 14’s palm as it made contact with the small of her back, pulling her in closer. It was like a dam had broken between them, not one that had been containing their feelings, but the one that had been keeping their magnetic pull apart.

The fire raging inside her was _not_ what Clarke had expected given the chaste nature of their friendship, but now that the floodgates had opened it’s what she _needed_ now and from the way she felt 14’s hands on her, the feeling was completely mutual.

Clarke lifted 14’s shirt over her head and 14 pulled Clarke’s tank top off as soon as she was free from her own, both standing in their tight shorts. They crashed back into each other’s lips, gasping for breath between the velvet explorations of their tongues, feeling the heat of their bare skin as they pressed against each other, trying to get as close as possible and it never feeling like enough. Clarke shuddered as 14 took her lower lip between hers, and failed to hold back a tiny moan as she felt 14’s tongue swipe along it’s length, the pressure of suction and teeth as it slid out from 14’s grip with a soft pop.

They paused for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling the air between them hot and electric. 14 leaned in this time, kissing her with such softness, such tenderness it was like she wanted Clarke to know that this, whatever this was, it didn't have to change anything between them. This was need. This was desire. This was human. This was trust built up over weeks of blood and sweat and sorrow and healing. This was after all of their mental walls had been scraped away, leaving them raw and vulnerable and safe. Clarke felt the lump in her throat travel like a warm orb through her core before it settled between her legs. She was nervous and excited and this was really going to happen and God why were they not in the bed yet?

Clarke pushed 14 down onto the mattress and shifted so that she was straddling her, their faces inches apart. She giggled softly, watching as 14 scrunched up her nose at the tickling blonde hair around her face. Her laughter turned into a quivering gasp when she felt 14 lightly glide the pads of her fingers up her spine  before flipping her over in an instant. As 14 leaned down to kiss her, the tips of her hair now brushing Clarke’s face, Clarke imagined 14’s face as it usually was -- so serious and reserved and calculating -- but in this moment, she was smiling, grinning into Clarke’s lips. If nothing else happened between them tonight --  or ever -- it would still have made the weeks of training worth it just for this break in the veil.

But more _was_ happening as 14 moved her lips lower, to Clarke’s neck, fingertips tracing across the expanse of Clarke’s bare skin, now sensitive and flushed as she trembled under waves of anticipation flowing down to her core and out to her extremities. She watched 14 trail her attentions lower, every swirl of her tongue and pull of her lips adding to the tightness in Clarke's throat and pulsing between her thighs. She wondered if 14 had been secretly mapping every exposed nerve during their sparring sessions, knowing exactly how (nearly) every square inch of her body would respond to her touch.

When their lips met again, Clarke’s aching was almost unbearable -- she needed more, and as 14’s fingers slid down the smooth pane of her stomach, over her underwear, and pressed where Clarke was most desperate, she couldn’t stop the groaning whine as it ripped from her throat, her hips rising in search of more pressure from 14’s hand.

“Can I have these?” 14 murmured, her lips brushing against Clarke’s ear, sending new shivers down her body, as she gave the waistband of Clarke's underwear a light tug.

Clarke swallowed hard, and nodded.  She watched the light from the fireplace shimmering against the thin sheen of sweat on 14’s skin, her chest rising and falling in time with Clarke's own thudding heart as she knelt between  Clarke's legs and removed her last piece off clothing.

She was the tide being pulled by the moon, the waves coming further and more forcefully to shore. Every stroke of 14’s tongue, the gentle suction from her lips and deep curl of her her fingers brought Clarke closer to her release. But for the second time, 14 slowed, backing off, just enough, just keeping Clarke at the brink but never tumbling over, making the inevitable that much stronger. It was deliciously frustrating, almost unbearable, and as Clarke felt 14 begin to build up her intensity again, felt herself being edged closer and closer, she grabbed a fistful of 14’s hair, anything to let her know _Do. Not. Stop._ With a moan against her that Clarke could feel, 14 obeyed.

Clarke careened over the edge into oblivion, tethered to this world by her grip on 14 as every pulse and wave exploded outward to the edges of space before pulling everything back inward again. Her abdominals flexed, core strained, mouth open in a silent scream, holding her breath until she saw pulses of light behind her eyelids.

14 coaxed the last tremors from her body, before settling herself against Clarke, the weight feeling comfortable, grounding. She could taste herself on 14’s warm lips, her own feeling cold and numb.

“You ok?” 14 asked, resting her head on her elbow, her other hand pressed flat on Clarke’s sternum, keeping her heart from beating out of her chest. “Did I accidentally kill Wanheda?”

The ringing in Clarke’s ears was slowly fading, the underwater feeling dissipated as she felt herself coming back to the surface of the world.

“Maybe,” Clarke answered, her voice raspy, a lazy smile playing at her lips as she was still trying to catch her breath, the stars behind her eyelids growing faint.  


When Clarke opened her eyes again, the only thing in her view was the dying fire -- no 14 on the couch -- and a wave of panic coursed through her before Clarke remembered that she was naked. She turned over to see 14 asleep in the space next to her on the bed, her face peaceful as she breathed deeply, lost in dreamless oblivion. She watched her for several long minutes, the rise and fall of 14’s bare chest in the low light, tiny shadows cast by some of her more prominent scars on her abdomen, and the mystery of what unseen places on her felt like, still hidden by the blanket gathered around her hips.

Clarke’s mind flashed back to a few hours ago, again feeling the tightness in her throat and pulsing warmth in her center, now merely an echo of the intensity she had felt then. It almost didn’t feel real. She reached her hand out, the pads of her fingers gently touching on the most recent scars on 14, the ones that had made her eyes water and her heart ache for a stranger so many weeks ago.

“Awake?” 14 mumbled, not opening her eyes.

Clarke leaned against her elbow, her left hand continuing to trace along 14’s skin.

“Yes. Sorry,” Clarke said, feeling her cheeks flush slightly as she remembered _not_ being awake immediately after 14 had done whatever incredible thing she did that was still sending pulses through Clarke’s body whenever she thought about it.

14 opened her eyes and turned her head towards Clarke, which Clarke took as an invitation to press their lips together again.

“Can I make it up to you?” Clarke whispered against 14’s lips as her fingertips hesitated just underneath 14’s waistband. She leaned in to kiss her again, letting her tongue run along 14’s upper lip, feeling 14’s hips tilt upward towards her hand in answer.

Clarke felt the breath slam from her chest, the familiar weightless, dropping sensation settle in her stomach as her fingers explored 14’s warmth. She watched 14’s face, watched her eyebrows knit together and relax, lips parted in silent prayer, as Clarke sought to find the rhythm and pressure she liked best. She was about to move her hand down lower, to feel 14 from the inside, but as if she knew what Clarke was thinking, 14’s hand wrapped around Clarke’s wrist, keeping her exactly where she needed. Clarke thought about how quiet and reserved she still was, even in pleasure, and wondered, sadly, if it had been born out of necessity, knowing the consequences if she were ever caught. She could taste the salt of dried sweat on 14’s skin, watched her abdominals flex as her hips rolled along in rhythm with Clarke’s hand; coming apart in one shaking breath, her head thrown back and pressed against the pillow, the muscles and veins in her neck straining as she allowed one gasping moan to pass her lips before collapsing, trembling, curling herself against Clarke’s body.

 

Clarke lay with her head on 14’s chest, soothed by the steady, wet thumping of 14’s heart as she idly stroked her fingers along Clarke’s back. The electrified, desperate passion they had felt earlier, now morphed into comforting reflection.

“What was her name?” Clarke asked, her fingertips still tracing constellations between 14’s scars.

“November.”

“Were there others named after months?”

“No. ‘N’ is the 14th letter of the alphabet. Old military code-names. Alpha, Bravo… I’m not sure if I was paired with her or she with me, but the names and numbers always corresponded.”

“Did you love her?” 14 asked, after a long pause.

Clarke’s heart thudded in her chest. She had been trying not to think about Lexa. But trying and doing aren’t the same thing and more than once she had wondered if she hadn’t stopped their kiss in her tent that day how far things might have gone.

“No,” Clarke replied, honestly. “But… I think I wanted to.”

Clarke felt 14 kiss the top of her head, deeply breathing in the scent of soap as it clung to her hair.

 

Clarke awoke without any memory of dreams, sunlight spilling through the skylight as 14 lay pressed against her back, her arm draped over Clarke, hand resting against her heart.

It was time for them to leave this place. The harsh, unforgiving cold having given way to the crisp dampness and new green of Spring. Where they would go, she wasn’t sure. Arkadia? Polis? Somewhere else? She wasn’t even sure if 14 would come with her, though she felt like their fates were bound together now.

She felt 14 squeeze her arm around her, consciousness having arrived.

“It looks like it’s finally not going to rain every second of every day. Maybe we should think about heading out?” Clarke asked.

“Not yet.” 14 murmured, nuzzling softly at the back of Clarke’s neck. “Tomorrow.”

14 gently pulled her arm from around Clarke’s chest, a hand pressed on her hip, maneuvering Clarke onto her back as she slipped underneath the blanket in search of more ways to delay the inevitable.

 

Clarke listened to the sound of the woods as they walked, her chirping birds having returned to their perches and the leaves now mushy and decomposed from their long, rainy winter, making squicky sounds beneath their feet. They had decided to leave the bunker for a short walk, hoping the decision of where to travel next would be revealed during their explorations. It felt good to breathe in the fresh air, to feel sunlight on her face again, and not have to race inside once her ears and nose were red and raw. Clarke felt like she had found her peace, or at least had made peace with the horrors of her past in this moment as they walked.

Her adrenaline spiked before she had even processed the plinking sound, followed by a loud hissing. As she saw the brightly colored smoke obscuring everything around them, she was filled with dread, remembering the last time… the time The Mountain Men had come to claim her and her friends for their experiments. But they were all dead. It was her fault. But they were dead. She spun around, searching for 14 who was almost invisible not an arm’s length away.

“No!” shouted 14, her eyes wide as she coughed and tried to reach for Clarke.

  
The world disappeared amid shouts and birds and fog and darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke had never seen anything as terrifying as 14 in this moment. She was a wild, vicious, beautiful thing.

Everything was muffled and disjointed, the throbbing in Clarke's head making it impossible to open her eyes. She struggled to move, finding her hands bound behind her back, her cheeks pulled hard by the gag tied around her mouth. She tried to focus on the voices she could hear against the deafening ringing in her ears.

“We need you to come back in. There was an anomaly in the test results.”

She was authoritative, but didn’t sound much more than a few years older, if at all.

“I understand this must be hard for you. Confusing,” she continued, detached, clinical.

“I thought they killed you,” 14 said, her voice low, disbelieving.

Clarke’s eyelids fluttered as she tried to open them, the world around her spinning slightly. She was in a room with cement walls, nature having reclaimed portions of the structure as it crumbled in spots, creeping vegetation and sky visible around the edges.

“I didn’t expect to see you again, either, if that makes you feel any better,” the woman said to 14, her tone softer.

The gag in Clarke’s mouth was making her nauseous, her tongue pressing uncomfortably against it. She could see 14, her hands tied in front of her, talking to a woman of similar height and slightly slimmer build.

 _November_. Clarke was certain it was her. There was something different about her, in the same way, she thought, there was something extraordinary about 14. She was so reserved, professional. Clarke couldn’t imagine being so cold around someone she had cared about. Her mind went to Lexa -- knowing that if she saw her again, she was going to kill her. Nothing dispassionate about that.

14 turned her head, her eyes locking on Clarke’s. They were dark, glassy, red around the edges, though completely void of any emotion. It was haunting and reminded Clarke of the first time she’d looked into 14’s eye, the other being too swollen to open, as she’d felt 14’s unbreakable grip around her arm, beaten and nearly dead in the forest all those weeks ago.

Following 14’s gaze, the other woman began walking towards Clarke.

She was wearing a dark grey, fitted shirt, the sleeves pushed up above her elbows, a jagged scar visible on the underside of her forearm near her wrist. Her large, almond-shaped eyes set against an olive complexion were perfectly complimented by straight, jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Where 14’s irises were grey and stormy, hers were the darkest blue-black of a bottomless ocean with light flecks like cresting waves. She was mesmerizing. But if Clarke had learned one thing on the brutal ground it was that beauty and savagery kept close company.

November reached towards Clarke, brushing the hair back from Clarke’s neck, her hand tilting Clarke’s chin from side to side before bending down to examine Clarke's arms. As her fingers gripped the bottom hem of Clarke’s shirt, 14 broke the silence.

“You won’t find anything.”

She arched an eyebrow back at 14, before returning her attention to Clarke.

“There are a lot of people still looking for you, Clarke. I’m not sure whether I should be surprised that after all this time, 14 would have been the one to find you.”

Even if Clarke could speak, she didn’t feel the need to correct her. She wasn’t sure if November even knew what they’d done to 14 after they last saw each other.

As if on cue, 14 spoke, her voice louder than usual; trying to draw attention away from Clarke. For that, Clarke was grateful, as November’s dark, hypnotic gaze made her feel uneasy.

“What did they do to you?” 14 asked, her voice searching. This November was not _her_ November.

“What they had always planned to do. One through Thirteen were the control group. You were the variable. Like I said, there were some anomalies with the test results. So I’ve been asked to bring you back in. We may or may not need Clarke.”

“Where are the other four? They didn’t just send you.” 14’s head was raised, defiant against her captor and by her combative tone, it was obvious they both knew that it would take more than just one person to get her to go back to the research facility.

“They’re dead. And their handlers.” November said.

Finding that the rest of her “family” was dead didn’t seem to phase 14. Clarke wondered if she had made peace with never seeing them again during their time together or if she was just repressing all of her emotions in order to survive this encounter with her past.

“What anomalies?” 14 asked, matching November’s clinical tone.

November paused, her hand moving to the side of her head, listening to something as it came through her earpiece and responding quietly. She inhaled deeply through her nose and continued.

“You must have figured out that the goal wasn’t _you_ , right? The next phase was always to take the tech and make it available to the non-engineered. But it’s not just the nanotech and hemoglobin and stem cells. If it were, then your siblings and their handlers would still be alive. You and I confirmed that the code was more sophisticated… more… discerning. It had learned how to _feel_.”

Clarke watched 14’s throat work around a visible swallow, her constructed facade cracking around the edges.

“I loved you,” 14 said, her voice unsteady.

“I know,” November said, her own voice threatening to quake. She reached her hand out towards 14 and slowly tucked a piece of grey hair behind her ear. Clarke was struck by the tenderness of the gesture. After all the pain between them, November still cared about 14. She had always cared, on some level. Which made the betrayal worse, in Clarke’s mind.

“So, everything before… when we...? Did you know the whole time?” 14 was on the verge of tears.

“I knew when they told me what they needed me to do,” November answered. “They had to see how you would handle the consequences.”

“I could have killed you,” 14 said, her voice a mixture of worry and anger.

“And that was a risk they were willing to take. But with my blood in you and yours in me, the AI responded as they had hoped. Your choice was its choice.”

November paused, gathering herself, the impassive mask falling back into place as she walked back towards Clarke.

“And now that you’ve confirmed Clarke is untainted, we can use her to continue the trials. We’ll isolate the variable and program around it… and the new developments that we are trying to integrate as well.”

Clarke wasn’t sure if this was hard to follow because November was being deliberately obfuscatory or if whatever gas they had used to knock them out was still lingering in her system. She was confused about how the blood transfer stuff worked, but it seemed like whatever tech was in 14 had an emotional component and while Clarke wouldn’t say she and 14 were _together_ , she also had no idea what November assumed about their relationship.

“What makes you think she’s anything more--” 14 spat, anger boiling over and forming a protective shell around her pain, but her words were cut short as November turned towards Clarke and punched her square in the gut.

With the wind completely knocked out of her, Clarke wasn’t able to brace for the next series of blows as they connected with her face, sending her blood splattering to the floor. Her tongue tasted the raw, bitter copper of the cut on her lip.

Clarke glanced at 14, her gaze focused on November as she walked back across the room, lifting her hand to her mouth and licking Clarke’s blood from her knuckles. Clarke felt her stomach surge and bile creep into her throat before she swallowed it back down, the burning nausea replacing the painful spasm in her diaphragm from November’s suckerpunch.

“Do you remember how much you took from me?” November asked 14, her lower lip coated in a thin sheen of bright red, holding up her forearm. “Do you remember how you tried to heal this afterwards? Tried to save me? You’re in me now. You --” Clarke couldn’t hear the rest of what November said as she leaned down and whispered into 14’s ear. Clarke watched shock play across 14’s face, watched her eyes grow dark and feral as she clenched her jaw, nostrils flaring, November’s bloody-knuckled hand pressed against her chest.

November took a few steps back, her hand once again going to her earpiece. She said something unintelligible before turning back to 14.

“This has to be your choice,” she continued, resuming her official tone. “They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Do I have your word that you won’t hurt her?” 14 asked, tilting her head towards Clarke.

Clarke wasn’t sure, but it looked like something passed between them in the moments of silence before November gave a short nod.

“Okay,” 14 said.

Clarke was furious. She was not going to get cut open or electrocuted or whatever they had planned for her. But 14 had taught her to watch for opportunity in an attack, so she was quiet for now, struggling against her bonds would only tire her. She had to be alert. Ready.

November unsheathed the small tactical knife at her hip and bent down to cut the rope. 14 stood, rubbing her wrists, head down, dejected. Clarke was so attuned to 14’s body language at this point, she saw the imperceptible shift as 14 went completely still for half a heartbeat. She saw November realize the change, too, but it was too late. In a blur, 14’s elbow was slamming into November’s face as her hand whipped around, grabbing the knife at November’s waist before throwing her to the ground, the knife now buried deep into the center of her chest.

Clarke watched in stunned silence as 14 knelt, cradling November in her arms, blood spurting from her mouth as she coughed. Her eyes were wide with shock, but as she looked up at 14, Clarke saw even her face change, softening into relief at her fate. November reached her hand up, tucking another errant strand of hair behind 14’s ear.

“You need a haircut,” November said, coughing slightly through a pained grimace.

14 self consciously ran a hand through her hair, her mouth turning into a half-hearted smile.

“There’s something they want at Mt. Weather. I don’t know what, but I know it involves one of the clans.”

14 nodded, swallowing hard. Clarke’s chest felt tight as she watched; even in death and grief and betrayal, November and 14 were still partners, still connected.

“I’m sorry,” 14 choked, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes.

“I know. Me too.”

November took another labored breath.

“It was real,” November said, pausing, her next inhalation coming as a gurgling gasp. “We were real.”

“I know,” 14 whispered, smiling through her tears.

14 rested her palm around November’s cheek as she leaned down to kiss her, sniffling as she gently lay her body on the ground.

Clarke felt hot tears streaming down her own cheeks as 14 rose to her feet slowly, wiping the bloody knife on her pant leg as she began walking towards her. They both paused, turning their heads at the sound of a loud engine in the distance. In an instant, 14 was in front of her, cutting the ropes around her wrists and pulling the gag from around her mouth.

“We need to get out of here! They’re coming!” Clarke shouted, trying to pull her wrists apart to give tension to the rope as it snapped.

“Do you trust me?” 14’s voice was low, serious, urgent.

Her eyes were locked on Clarke’s, the familiar lightning storm drowning out the entire world around them.

Clarke didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to lead them away from here. They’re going to think I killed you. Do not move. Do not let them know you are alive. Wait until we are gone and then run. Don’t try to find me and don’t tell anyone about any of this. Go to your people. Go to Polis. Go anywhere. I will find you.”

Clarke nodded, still not understanding what 14 was planning, but she trusted her. She felt 14 kiss her, hard; it didn’t feel so much like goodbye as a promise she would see her again.

“I’m sorry. I have to make them believe it to keep you safe,” 14 said as she broke their kiss, her palm against Clarke’s cheek, eyes burning into her.

As Clarke’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, she saw the blade in 14’s other hand out of the corner of her eye and felt a sharp, searing pain on the side of her neck, a small but deep cut, blood soaking into her shirt immediately.

14 moved her lips to Clarke’s neck, pulling the life out of her, her arms like an iron embrace. Clarke’s heart was racing, pumping more blood out of her, down 14's throat. She began to feel dizzy and just wanted to rest; she was grateful when 14 lowered her slowly to the floor.

“Stay awake, Clarke. Please. I need you to fight.” Desperate, pleading.

Her vision was starting to blur, but she could see 14 pull the blade across her own palm, more blood dripping onto the floor and felt 14’s hand wrap around the wound on her neck, holding tightly for a few moments.

“Close your eyes. Hold very still. Stay awake. When we’re gone, you need to run.”

Clarke closed her eyes and told her head to nod, but she had no idea if the signal had made it to her muscles; her body felt totally disconnected and like it was slowly sinking into the earth. She listened as loud footsteps entered the room, feeling someone nudge her with a boot.

“Looks like she killed the Arker, too.”

“Check to make sure. If she’s not dead, bring her. They’ll want November back. You three, find 14. Tranqs only.”

Clarke held her breath as fingers pressed against her neck, searching for a pulse. She heard a startled, strangled gasp and then felt hot liquid spray across her face. She cautioned opening a single eye and saw 14, the bloody knife in her hand as she dropped the guard’s corpse next to her, his throat slit from ear to ear.

Clarke had never seen anything as terrifying as 14 in this moment. She was a wild, vicious, beautiful thing.

14 brought a finger up to her lips, her eyes frenzied and face splattered in blood, before she sprinted out of the room in the direction the other guards had taken.

Clarke tried to stay awake, tried to listen to the muffled shouts and commotion outside, but she was so tired. For the second time today, Clarke succumbed to the dark oblivion of unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in her life, she loathed the inhuman thing that she was.
> 
>  
> 
> Comments always welcome.

The reflection of the sun off the water looked like millions of moving stars twinkling across the vast expanse of ocean, each so bright they made Clarke’s eyes sting as she squinted, gazing out over the horizon. The small boat rocked gently, the pitch and roll of the waves constant and soothing as Clarke listened to the water lap softly against the hull.

She shifted her attention to the bench in front of her, Lexa and 14 sat next to each other, their faces expressionless, smooth as stone. 14 turned and whispered something in Lexa’s ear, but without Lexa moving her lips, it was her voice was in Clarke’s head.

“Clarke, please -- ”

But Clarke was done listening to the lessons of The Commander. She turned, looking back out over the water, silencing the voice inside her mind. She felt sick to her stomach, wondering if was the sea or the familiar nausea that the thought of Lexa stirred within her.

 

Clarke jerked awake, the rocking motion she had felt in her dream continuing into the real world. As her mind cleared, she realized the waves were actually the steady sway of the horse beneath her. The gag was back in her mouth, her head covered by a sack, the coarse weave letting in only enough light to see that it was daytime and that she was still in the greens and browns of the forest. She tried to lift her hands, but her wrists were bound in front of her, tied to the saddle.

Clarke felt her heart start to race, beginning to panic, the air inside the bag over her head was warm and stale and she felt like she was going to suffocate in her own exhalations. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but if they wanted to kill her, she’d be dead right now, which means she was being taken to someone else. Had Azgeda finally found her?

Another, more muted wave of fear coursed through her. 14 was gone. And Clarke would probably never see her again. Because that’s how it was here. She got people killed.

Clarke tried to speak, shouting against the cloth muting her voice and struggling against the bindings around her wrists, pulling at them, until she felt a hand roughly grab her by the front of her shirt and yank her halfway off the horse. Whoever holding her was _strong_ ; half her bodyweight supported by a single arm.

“You keep it up, Wanheda, and I’ll pull you from this horse and drag you behind it,” a man’s deep voice growled at her. He shoved her back into the saddle.

The horse began to sway beneath her again, dots of light playing across the burlap screen in front of her eyes.

She felt dizzy, her strength completely sapped by that small outburst, remembering the pints of blood 14’s thirst had claimed. Clarke swallowed hard, her throat dry and feeling the broken skin around her neck prickle uncomfortably. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a few moments to grieve. She didn’t care that this was weakness. 14 _deserved_ to be mourned by someone.

 

Night had fallen, the bright yellow sun replaced by the white light of the full moon. The tiny boat continued to bob along the waves, the edge of the world disappearing into the infinite water.

“Clarke!”

This time it was 14’s voice shouting her name inside her head. Clarke turned back towards the bench to see 14 standing now, naked, her bare shoulders and legs visible as she held Lexa’s limp body in her arms, blood dripping onto the deck, dark and black in the moonlight.

“Wanheda,” 14 whispered, the sound passing through her barely parted lips, eyes glittering silver as the waves reflected against them.

 

Clarke could barely hear the murmurings of people speaking in Trigedsleng over the roaring pulse in her ears, beating like ceremonial drums as she was marched towards her own death.

"Wanheda, kom ai don swega klin.” _Wanheda as Promised_.

Clarke was shoved roughly to her knees and left there to listen as she heard a door close behind her, the voices of her captor and another person -- a woman -- obscured and muted as they continued their discussion in another room.

Clarke tried to make out what was being said, but between their rapid Trigedasleng and her own lingering wooziness, she had to shift her focus to simply remaining conscious.

The door opened again and Clarke caught the last few words -- in English, this time -- as the woman spoke.

”I'll honor our deal when your Queen honors my coalition. Lock Prince Roan of Azgeda away.”

Hearing her voice, Clarke felt the world stop around her.

Lexa.

“Leave us,” she commanded and Clarke heard the multiple people shuffle out of the room and the door close again.

They were alone. Clark blinked back tears as the sack was pulled from around her head, her eyes adjusting as she looked up at the silhouetted figure against the afternoon sun. She was finally face to face with the girl who had haunted her nightmares and soothed her in dreams.

“Hello, Clarke.”

Clarke felt Lexa’s gaze roam over her, taking in every bump and bruise, lingering on her neck and Clarke could only imagine what it must look like. A deep cut, surrounded by blood, smeared and dried… The bruising and swelling around her face from November’s beating… The rest of her disheveled and dirty, days spent bound atop a horse after Lexa had sent the fucking _Prince of Azgeda_ to drag her back to Polis. Back to _her_.

But Lexa didn’t have Clarke. Clarke was the girl who had trembled against Lexa’s lips, surprised and overwhelmed with desire. Clarke was the girl left choking back tears as she’d watched The Commander disappear into the night. Lexa did not deserve Clarke.

And so it was the seething, cold blue eyes of Wanheda that stared defiantly at Lexa as she reached out to remove the gag from Clarke’s mouth.

“I’m sorry that it had to be this way,” Lexa said, the eyes of The Commander looking back at her. “I had to ensure Wanheda didn’t fall into the hands of The Ice Queen.”

All traces of dizziness Clarke had felt minutes earlier were gone, her hatred giving her mind clarity like she had jumped into a freezing river, except instead of the breath rushing from her lungs, she drank it in, slowly, deeply, stoking the burning rage within herself.

“War is brewing, Clarke. I need you.” The Commander’s voice was softer now, the razor thin line between Heda and Lexa blurring.

Clarke couldn’t believe The Commander, _Lexa_ , had the audacity to ask for _her_ help. After breaking her heart, breaking her trust, breaking _her_. Clarke clenched her jaw, wishing that her hands were untied so that she could wrap her fingers around Lexa’s throat. But she couldn’t. Not now. She would have to wait. She imagined 14 whispering in her ear to be patient, the heated shivers down her spine mingling with electric hatred in her core.

“Fuck. You.” Clarke shouted, spitting in Lexa’s face, the doors bursting open immediately at the sound of her raised voice.

As the guards dragged her away, Clarke relished the satisfaction she felt at seeing look of complete shock across Lexa’s normally controlled features, her eyes wide and confused at Clarke’s new ferocity -- at meeting The Commander of Death.  


 

The wind whipped past her ears as she ran, moving at the mile-eating pace she could maintain from dawn until dusk. She knew that she had to push further still, the moon guiding her as it travelled across the sky, meeting the first rays of sun as they spread their golden fingers through the treeline. This was her purpose: to be in complete awareness of every element of her physicality. Smooth. Controlled. Efficient. This was decades of genetic tinkering, tweaking amino acids and binary code into every cell as they twitched and flexed, propelling her body ever forward.

Days later and Clarke’s blood still pumped through her veins. She had taken too much. She shouldn’t still be able to feel her.

 

She had awoken under the blinding surgical lamps, her back arching off the table as her bare skin pressed against the electrical pulse surging through her. She remembered the gulping gasp of air as it filled her lungs, consciousness coming as a crashing wave before pulling her away into darkness again.

Her fingers had trembled as they touched the skin at the base of her skull, feeling the single, small column of stitches extending from her hairline several inches down her neck, not knowing whether they had put something in… or taken something out.

 

She breathed in the briny, salty air that followed her into the forest and tried to piece together the snatches of conversation she’d overheard during her brief captivity. An alliance. A way to control them. A new piece of tech.

Her feet carried her across the soft earth, over branches and around trees, no real memory of how she’d escaped, only able to remember how her mouth had watered, a primal signal from the code as the metallic smell of their blood permeated the air. She hadn’t had time to take from them, to replenish, only hoping Clarke’s strength would carry her far enough, away from their grasp and back to the last remaining person she could trust.

With each swing of her arms, perfectly in sync with every rebounding step, she remembered Clarke’s warm weight as she held her, the force of Clarke’s pulse ebbing, heartbeat slowing, the taste of blood tinged with the acidic bite of adrenaline as it passed over her tongue. For the first time in her life, she loathed the inhuman thing that she was.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I never meant to turn you into this.”
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading. Comments welcome.

For the first few days, the view had made Clarke dizzy, her previous world perspectives limited to the claustrophobia within The Ark, every person in her universe only ever a few hundred  feet away, the “horizon” forming abruptly from metal and glass. Earth was just  an abstract orb of colors spinning slowly beneath her. When she had arrived on land, the world spread out in front of her at eye level, trees soaring above as she tilted back her head. Now, while she was held captive hundreds of feet above the ground in the tallest tower in Polis, she could see miles beyond the forest floor, the hills and valleys and rivers twinkling in the sunlight and the constant movement of people walking between the sprawling warren of crumbled buildings and tents.

The moment the guards had sealed her in this room, Clarke began to search for something -- anything -- that she could use as a weapon. She ignored the ornate bed and comfortable chairs, the tapestries and candles, instead getting down on her hands and knees, crawling and peering  and touching until she found a small metal dowel, about the length from her fingertip to her wrist, just small enough to hide but sturdy enough to puncture a throat.

Her hands were raw and blistered from the constant abrasion, but she ignored the pain, using it to keep her mind focused on everything 14 had taught her -- patience, opportunity, power -- as she rubbed the rounded tip against the stone railing on her balcony, honing its dulled edge into a point. Clarke had to focus on 14’s lessons to keep the empty, crushing terror she felt from consuming her, knowing that 14 was probably dead, cut open on some operating table, her life finally reduced to data saved on a computer.

Everything and everyone she had ever loved in any capacity -- tried to love, wanted to love -- would always be taken from her. Leave her. Be killed by her. This facet of her fate was becoming abundantly clear.

She heard the door to her room opening, the old hinges squeaking slightly.

“Hello, Clarke.”

Clark slid the makeshift dagger up her sleeve and turned to find Lexa standing in the middle of her room, the door clicking shut behind her. It was jarring, seeing her again in person, her battle armor and war paint absent, her hands without their studded gloves, bare, clasped in front of her. She still wore her coat, it’s high collar accentuating her long neck and regal posture, long braids tumbling down her back. Clarke focused on the small metal symbol of The Commander set between her eyebrows, wondering briefly if Lexa ever took it off or if even in sleep, she would always be Heda.

“What part of ‘I won’t see you’ was unclear?” Clarke asked, knowing that as a prisoner she had very little say in the matter.

“I respected your wishes for as long as I could, but we have bigger concerns right now,” the tone of The Commander addressing Clarke.

“ _We_ don’t have any concerns at all,” Clarke replied coldly.

“Yes we do. Your people have begun to move into Mount Weather, and while I know Kane is an honorable leader, the rest of the clans don’t trust Skaikru. I’m hosting a summit in the coming weeks, to which Skaikru is invited. You may stay here until then, or you may return to your people tomorrow if you wish.” Lexa explained.

“Why do you need me, then? You are comfortable dealing with Kane. Why go through all the trouble to capture me just to let me go?”

“I went through all that trouble to save you,” Lexa said, her tone softer as she took one measured pace towards Clarke.

“Like you give a shit about me.” Clarke was furious.

As if Lexa had any right to claim she cared about her. She had certainly _made_ Clarke believe that she cared, but the moment Lexa decided to side with The Mountain Men, her true intentions became apparent. She would take whatever the best opportunity was -- loyalty and trust completely disregarded. Or maybe not even really there to begin with. Clarke still felt the lurching sickness that Lexa had played her

Clarke watched as Lexa blinked slowly, taking in a deep breath before continuing.

“You’re angry, Clarke, but I know you. I know what you’ve done haunts you. And I know it’s easier to hate me than hate yourself.”

“Oh. I can do both,” Clarke said, trying to keep her voice steady against the rage and despair she felt.

Clarke thought Lexa was going to rise to her baiting, her eyes were bright, her full lips parted slightly, but she sealed them again, taking another careful breath before continuing.

“We can discuss this more later if you'd like, but for now, I was hoping you would consider the needs of your people and at least think about my proposition.”

Clarke crossed her arms, but said nothing.

“If your people continue to settle in Mount Weather, I cannot protect them from the other clans. I want you to become an ambassador between our people, and eventually I want your people to become my people. I'm offering Skaikru the chance to join my coalition, become the 13th Clan. No one would dare to move against you because that would be moving against me.”

“Just leave me alone. I’m done. Do you understand that? I left.” Clarke tried to hide behind the anger in her voice, doing everything she could to keep tears of frustration from filling her eyes. She was no one. She had no people. She didn't deserve to. Not yet.

“You can’t run away from who you are, Clarke,” Lexa said, all of the understanding they had built between them before the betrayal coming to the surface again. “Bow before me and your people will be safe.”

“Bow before you?!” Clarke’s anger ripped through her again. “You don't give a damn about my people. I know why you're here. I made you look weak at Mount Weather. You’re afraid because my people now have The Mountain. And the Ice Nation is exploiting that.”

Clarke paused, trying to calm herself, to stay focused. Her voice was steady and low as she continued.

“Well, if you want the power of Wanheda, kill me. Take it.”

Clarke stared into Lexa’s green eyes, willing The Commander to attack her. It would either mean her vengeance or the end to her suffering. She wasn’t sure which she wanted more.

“But I will _never_ bow before you.”

Clarke watched as Lexa blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. They both knew that each had the power to see beyond the walls and lies and posturing. Clarke hated that Lexa _did_ still know her, but she knew that she could also still cut below Lexa’s surface. She could feel the pointed bit of metal pressing against her wrist as she balled her hands into fists.

Lexa turned to leave the room, her coat billowing behind her.

Clarke reached a hand out towards a chair to steady herself, adrenaline making her whole body shake, lingering weakness from bloodloss still clinging to her muscles. She took a few deep, gulping breaths before walking back out to the balcony, the makeshift knife sliding from her sleeve into her hand, ready to resume its angled glide across the stone.

 

 

Lexa spun, her staff ready to block the next blow as it came from the youth, Aden, in front of her. They clashed together, hard enough to hurt if they missed, but light enough that it wouldn’t leave more than a bruise. It was her job as Heda to show them restraint, control, even in battle. It was her job as Heda to train the next generation of Commanders. _Commander_. Only one of them would ascend after she died. Every time she looked into their young eyes, adoration looking back at her, she was reminded that the spirit of her ancestors would live on in a single Natblida _._ _Nightblood._ But death was the way of their world. She would die someday, likely sooner than most, and she had to know that her people, her legacy, would be safe in any of their young hands.

_Clarke. Her blue eyes brimming with tears, begging Lexa not to leave them._

Lexa felt Aden’s fist as it connected with her jaw, a sharp reminder that she had lost focus. Had been a real fight, the distraction could have been deadly -- no matter how much, deep, deep, _deep_ down, she might want to be distracted.

“Good, Aden. Very good.”

She allowed a small smile as she watched the boy beam back at her. It was no secret that he had the most potential out of all the Nightbloods. But potential was not a guarantee. Any one of them could be chosen by The Commander’s Spirit.

“Back to your training.”

Lexa watched as Aden trotted back towards the others were still practicing before walking to where her own teacher, Titus, was standing. She could already feel his anxiety and disapproval as she closed the distance between them.

“Aden is ready. He’s even better than I was at my conclave,” Lexa said, deciding to steer the conversation before Titus could open his mouth.

He inclined his head, agreeing with her, his years training Nightbloods and advising Commanders an invaluable resource and the closest thing to a friend any of them would ever have. Even after all these years together, she was still fascinated by the crown of geometric tattoos covering his shaved scalp and earlobes.

“How was your talk with Wanheda? Was it as I said?”

“She will come around,” Lexa answered, resting her elbows against the short wall surrounding the training ground. Although she spent more time in the tower throne room -- too much, in her opinion --  this was one of her favorite places in all of Polis. Her beloved forest stretching out as far in front of her as she could see, the sounds of wooden swords and grunts of combat in staccato rhythm with the birdsong around her.

“But will the other clans? Your entire plan relies on Wanheda’s ability to convince Skaikru to join your coalition. What if they refuse? Queen Nia has been stirring fears of a Skaikru retaliation. Everything we’ve worked for…”

“The clans will accept it when they see Wanheda bow before me.”

“The clans would respect it more if you had Wanheda’s power. Strike her down. Kill her. Take her power.” Titus said.

It’s not like she hadn’t thought about it. About killing Clarke. The expected move for her would have been to capture and kill Wanheda publically, thousands of her people there to witness as Heda spilled the blood of The Commander of Death, cementing Lexa as the most powerful Commander since The First.

_She could feel Clarke’s pulse under her thumb as her hand pulled Clarke closer, not knowing whether her boldness would be reciprocated and the rush she had felt when Clarke had..._

Lexa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, remembering that Titus was standing just a few feet away. She forced herself to think about how Clarke had looked at her a few hours ago -- the cold, infinite hatred flowing from her like mist over a frozen river, any heat that had ever been between them long since evaporated. Whatever Lexa might want would always be irrelevant.

To be The Commander is to be alone.

That was the lesson Titus had taught her--had tried to teach her--before Costia’s head had been delivered to her bed soon after she became Heda. It had been her fault. It would always be her fault. But she would make sure that nobody -- not Queen Nia nor any other clan leaders -- would be able to use Wanheda -- Clarke -- as a way to control her. And Wanheda’s alliance was the only way to ensure her and her people's safety. The only way for Lexa to make amends for the decisions of The Commander.

Lexa and Titus turned away from the valley view as they heard a guard approaching.

“Heda. Wanheda gaf in chich op yu.” _Wanheda wants to talk with you._

 

 

The sound of the door latch sent Clarke’s heart racing, the metal shiv sliding smoothly from her sleeve into her hand. She kept her back turned, listening as Lexa entered the room.

“Clarke…”

Clarke blinked and in the millisecond behind her eyelids, she saw 14 staring back at her, the fierce grey storm urging her forward, Clarke’s pulse roaring in her ears, drowning out every other sound beyond the sharp cluck of Lexa’s tongue as she finished saying Clarke’s name.

Before she could think, reconsider, she was spinning, turning towards The Commander, reaching out with one hand, grabbing her shirt to pull her closer, the other hand bringing the point of her makeshift dagger to press against the pulsing skin just below Lexa’s jaw.

Clarke watched a small drop of red bloom at the tip of her knife as it barely pierced the soft flesh of Lexa’s neck. Lexa didn’t move. She didn’t struggle or try to fight back. Clarke’s eyes shifted from Lexa’s neck to her mouth, her lips barely parted but no noise escaping, no shouts for her guards or begging Clarke to stop. Nothing. She was completely still, allowing Clarke full control in this moment.

Clarke looked up into Lexa’s green eyes, bright like the Northern Lights she had watched against the infinite darkness above the Earth’s atmosphere and she knew that she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kill Lexa. Whether she wanted to rationalize that killing the Grounder Commander would doom her people to war didn’t change the fact that she had lied to herself; had lied to 14. Her vengeance wouldn’t bring any of them back. It would just be more blood, sticky and thick, permanent red gloves on her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispered, never taking her eyes from Clarke’s.

She felt tears welling in her eyes, her lower lip quivering, threatening to break the dam she had kept in place while in Lexa’s presence, but it was too much. With a stifled sob, she pushed Lexa away from her, turning her back to The Commander as the weapon fell from her limp hand, clattering on the stone floor.

“I never meant to turn you into this,” Lexa said, her voice both full of genuine remorse and awe at the tortured violence within Clarke. “I’ll have horses and an escort readied to take you back to your people tonight.”

Clarke sniffled, trying to control her breathing. Lexa didn’t know what she had become, not really. She didn’t know the lengths Clarke had gone to prepare for this moment. The weeks she had spent hating herself alone in the woods and the weeks she had spent forging that hatred into murderous purpose. Lexa didn’t know the way she still ached for her friend, her companion, her mentor. And she wouldn’t. Clarke would never mention 14 to anyone. She would keep her word.

“No,” Clarke began, hoping her voice would steady itself as she turned back to face Lexa. The way Lexa looked at her -- still looked at her -- made Clarke’s stomach twist. She hadn’t been lying to 14 when she had said she had _wanted_ to love Lexa.  And whether or not Lexa had wanted to love her in return was irrelevant now.  But they could still be useful to each other, for their people. “You told me once that Polis would change the way I thought about your people,” Clarke said. She watched as the barest hint of curiosity played across Lexa’s features before disappearing again, always in control, always hiding behind the mask of power. “I’m here. So if you want Skaikru to join your coalition, convince me why we should ever trust you again.”

Lexa gave her customary small nod before walking towards Clarke. She kneeled, picking up the dropped blade, her fingertips lightly grazing Clarke’s palm as she placed it in her hand.

“Thank you, Clarke.”

They stood, looking at each other for several long heartbeats, Clarke wondering if she’d made a mistake, but knowing that if she was going to return to her people, become the leader she was supposed to be, then she would have to figure out a way to work with The Grounders. With The Commander. With Lexa.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Children can only begin to comprehend sacrifice. It is still abstract, like the feeling of snow if you’ve never been cold or drunkenness if you’ve never felt the burn of souda in your throat. You cannot know.”
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.

Something was wrong. With each swing of her arms, 14 could feel the metal staples pulling at the the red, raw holes in her skin along her ribs. They weren’t healing. Not fast enough. And she felt tired, the strength from Clarke’s blood waning as she pushed herself past exhaustion.

She could feel them in the air as they moved like she moved; knowing they were closing in around her.

The first bullet whizzed by her ear, the tips of her wild grey hair exploding like a dandelion in a gust of wind. She felt the next one, hot, searing pain ripping through her upper back. Skidding behind a tree, she held a hand up to her shoulder, her finger probing for an exit wound, the hard nub of metal below her skin telling her she would have to dig it out later. She took a deep breath. Lungs felt fine; she could keep going. But she would have to deal with them. She couldn’t lead them back to her. She was close. Or hoped she was. 

14 waited behind the tree, slowing her breathing, her heart rate, ears pricked to any sound in the dark. After several long minutes of feeling hot blood oozing down her back as the programming increased the thirst in her throat, she was rewarded, her head turning instantly towards the faint sound of a twig snapping. She lowered her hand, her thumb silently unclasping the stolen knife at her belt as she slunk deeper into the darkness.

 

14 bent over, retching the liquid contents of her stomach onto the leaves at her feet. In desperation, she had tried to ignore the unnatural stench from their blood, but as she spat the last from her mouth, she couldn’t get rid of the bitter, rancid flavor that lingered on her tongue. 14 wondered if they had been poisoned against her with chemicals or with code.

She took off again at a slow trot, trying her best to ration what little energy she had left, feeling the fragment of metal scraping against bone with every step.

 

 

Clarke rolled over in her bed, coming back into the world as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, bracing herself for the bright, stinging daylight that never came. It was still dark outside, at least half an hour until the sky would begin to lighten at the edges. 

The faint tapping on her door resumed.

She swung her feet over the side of the bed, slightly more awake as her skin met cold stone, and padded quietly towards the sound. Yawning as she opened the door, she was surprised to see Lexa standing in front of  her, the small round jewelry between her eyebrows glittered as it caught and reflected light from candles in the hallway.

“Good morning, Clarke.”

“Is it?” Clarke’s voice was raspy and she stifled another yawn, squinting at the candlelight framing Lexa.

“We can postpone another day if you would like to rest more,” she said, genuine concern in her voice, tinged at the edges with disappointment; her eyes roaming Clarke's face and Clark was sure she saw them hesitate just a moment longer at the still-healing cut on her neck. It had been nearly a week. It looked better than it should, but it didn’t look great. She still felt a little tired. Anemia probably. It would pass soon.

“No! No. No. Just… just give me a minute.”

Clarke moved from the doorway, and Lexa stepped into her room, her hands clasped firmly behind her back. Clarke watched as Lexa’s surveyed the space as if she were seeing it for the first time. As if everything in it wasn’t already hers. She even waited to sit until Clarke gestured to one of the chairs near the balcony.

“So what are we doing today that starts at night?” Clarke called from the bathroom.

“Showing you Polis.”

Clarke rolled her eyes as she pulled a clean shirt over her head. Though without being able to read her face to face, she really wasn’t sure if Lexa was fucking with her or not. It wasn’t like she knew a whole lot of Grounders on a one-to-one level. Maybe they were just super literal.  And really early risers.    
  
  


Clarke's thighs burned as they continued their ascent inside the tower; first the dimly lit staircase, then Lexa had grabbed Clarke's hand as she'd gone for the door at the landing, instead pulling her towards the rungs of the ladder extending upward into the darkness. The well-worn steel tubes solid and polished in the palms of her hands. She had been grateful to feel the cool air blowing down the passageway when they finally reached the apex, climbing out from the vertical tunnel onto the landing above. 

Clarke hadn’t opened her eyes since she’d first tried to look out over the world from the top of the tower, snapping them shut, lowering herself to the roof deck before her legs could give out from beneath her. She leaned against the short wall around the perimeter, trying to breathe, trying not to die. She could feel the gentle heat from the enormous fire at the roof’s center, the flames wiggled and waved in the light breeze and it made her arms break out in goosebumps as the wind cooled the sweat on her skin.

“The girl who lived in the sky is afraid of heights.”

Clarke could feel the teasing amusement in Lexa’s voice and if all the blood hadn’t drained from her face, she’s sure she would be blushing in embarrassment. 

“Shut up. I’m not afraid. I’m just… not used to it yet.” Clarke sucked in another deep lungful of air, grateful that they hadn’t eaten breakfast yet as her stomach lurched and somersaulted.

“Clarke. Look at me.”

Lexa was on one knee in front of her, impossibly, unexpectedly, distractingly close. The nausea and lightheadedness melting away as she felt hypnotized, powerless, lost in the jade forest of Lexa's eyes, still dilated against the pre-dawn sky. 

“I won’t let you fall. Trust m--”

Lexa bit off the last part of her sentence as Clarke felt her own expression harden at the single word that had the ability to either build or break them. Clarke swallowed down the flash of anger that had become instinctual now, forcing herself to remember that the past  _ was _ the past and that Clarke Griffin, Wanheda and Leader of Skaikru, was going to have to learn to trust Heda Lexa, Commander of The 12 Clans. 

For her people. 

This uncomfortable, fragile testing of another possible alliance was for them. 

“Okay.” Clarke nodded. Lexa rose to her feet, giving Clarke’s arm a gentle tug, and as Clarke attempted to join her, she closed her eyes again, this time not against the whirling landscape below but at the memory of 14 standing in front of her, snowflakes swirling all around them, the taste of blood in her mouth and warm strength of 14’s hand as it wrapped around her arm, pulling her to her feet. 

Eyes still closed and breathing deeply, she let Lexa position her so that the front of her legs pressed against the wall, her palms resting flat across its top, and as she felt Lexa grab a handful of fabric from the back of her shirt, feeling it strain against her chest, it was silly but she did feel safer, like Lexa would never let go of her again. Never let her go.

“Open your eyes, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice was soft, like a confession, a plea for her to see the world, see her, in a new way. It was the same small voice she had used in the tent as Clarke had backed her into the table, admitting she cared for Clarke and the same earnestness when she apologized yesterday, Clarke's blade pressed against her throat. 

And as Clarke obeyed, her eyelids fluttering slowly open, she gasped, feeling Lexa release the fabric in her hand. She saw her beloved sky, yellow and orange and red sun at the horizon, fading into pinks and purples as the golden light met the blues of a new day and ending night. Clouds reflected pinkish grey, spreading out in all directions, fluffy and sparse. She couldn’t stop the tears in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks as the colors became more brilliant the longer she watched the sunrise. 

For all the heartache and violence and death and laughter and love and every other feeling she had experienced since her arrival on the ground -- and in her 18 short years of breath -- she had never felt quite so close to absolute perfection and peace as at this moment. She wanted to cry, to shout, to leap off the tower and fly towards the sun, ready to burn and disintegrate into ashes, molecules, atoms, some small part of her everywhere, blanketing the Earth. 

Clarke turned her head, to see if the sunrise affected Lexa similarly, to see if her eyes watered at the dawn spilling across her domain, but she found herself looking back into Lexa’s as though Lexa had been watching her reaction the entire time. She looked nervous, hopeful, and like she was trying to tamp down those and every other emotion, but as soon as Clarke’s eyes landed on her, she allowed a small half-smile across her lips. 

Clarke watched as the new day bathed her stunning features in golden light, her eyes like green glass, the line of her jaw casting a sharp shadow down her long neck and thinking that if their fates were their own and not bound to the lives of thousands of people, if so many other ifs and what ifs were different, that this was exactly how she had imagined feeling the moment Lexa had invited her to Polis. She thinks would have grabbed her and kissed her, the warm sun heating their faces, eyes closed against the bright light, uninterrupted by the world that had not yet awoken.

The image was bittersweet as Clarke saw the smile across Lexa’s face fade. She wondered if Lexa had imagined this moment as well and if bringing her up here to see the sunrise was fulfilling some promise she had made to herself, regardless of the fact that each of them knew that vision lay at the end of a path lost to them the moment they parted at The Mountain. 

“Do you see the river there?” Lexa asked, turning and extending her arm to point behind them. “If you follow that river, it will lead you back to the sea,” Lexa moved her arm back towards the East “where the Floukru live. And there, over that ridge of mountains a few days travel,” again, Lexa moved her hand, “is the desert region of the Sankru. Due North and extending West and many days travel is Azgeda’s territory.”

Clarke found herself enjoying Lexa’s geography lesson from the top of the tower. Her nerves had finally calmed, the dizziness and palpitations gone, and she truly marvelled at the expanse of land and people that Lexa was able to unite under her cause of peace. There was no denying that Lexa was  _ impressive _ , just a few years older than Clarke herself, and she thought it strange how of all people for her to meet on the ground, it would be the most powerful person in the known world. 

“... and just beyond Trikru territory that way is where your people, Skaikru, first arrived. Over there, past those mountains, is where your people are now, in Mount Weather.” Lexa finished, returning her gaze to Clarke.

“Did you see it when we crashed?” Clarke asked, her eyes still trained towards her people's new home, her old prison. 

“How could we not? You were a blinding star shooting across the sky at midday.” Lexa was almost reverent and Clarke wondered how the Grounder faith handled an entire group people falling from the heavens.   
  
  


They picked their way through the maze of food stands and shop stalls setting up for the day’s market. Carts laden with brightly colored produce, fish still flopping in baskets, pieces of animal flesh butchered into portions all moved through the city as merchants unfurled awnings and began placing their wares on tables. It was still early enough that shoppers were not yet crowding the streets, many with empty bags at their feet sat eating their breakfasts at any number of small outdoor tables. 

Clarke followed as Lexa led her down one winding street after another, the emptiness in her stomach growing more painful with each passing cloud of smoke from cooking fires and steam rising from bubbling pots. She was ravenous, and about to suggest that they just eat  _ somewhere _ when she almost bumped into Lexa who had stopped in front of her.

“Heya, Striknamon.”  _ Hello, little mother. _

The woman at the stall looked up from stirring the large pot, her face immediately transformed by a toothy grin as she saw Lexa in front of her.

“Heya, Strikheda.”  _ Hello, little Heda.  _ “Good morning, Wanheda.” As she nodded towards her, Clarke was torn between hating her notoriety and being grateful at the switch to English. Her Trigedasleng was passable, but nowhere near fluent. “I have not seen you in many weeks, Heda. How will you swing your sword without Striknamon’s breakfast to keep you strong?” 

Clarke was sure she had seen an almost-wink directed at Lexa, the older woman’s eyes both motherly and mischievous and as Clarke looked at Lexa, she was also almost sure she saw a slight reddening of her cheeks. Striknamon gestured for them to sit at one of the handful of small tables around her stall where other Polis market-goers were slurping something from bowls and chattering about the day in their native tongue. Moments later, Striknamon set bowls in front of them, each filled with a creamy, white porridge, topped with a few cut green vegetables, some slices of meat, and Clarke recognized the golden yolk of a fresh egg. It smelled  _ wonderful _ .

Picking up her spoon, Clarke paused to look around and was surprised at the lack of fanfare at The Commander’s arrival and as if reading her thoughts, Lexa spoke, her own spoon holding a steaming bite cooling in the air.

“Everyone is everyone at Striknamon’s stand,” Lexa said before taking her first bite, then reaching to the small jars at the center of the table and adding a tiny spoonful of red powder to her bowl. 

Clarke followed her example and tried her first spoonful. Before coming to Earth, she'd had no idea that food could make her feel like this. It was like the epiphany she'd had after her first taste of cake at Mt. Weather. It was like it tickled at a memory she’d never made, of comfort and reassurance and  _ home _ . She savored each bite, the crunchy textures of the vegetables, the satisfying chew of meat and the rich egg yolk as it all mixed together across her tongue.

“This is… incredible. How did you find it? You grew up in the Trikru territory, right?” Clarke asked, the next heaping spoonful beginning to build a satisfying fullness in her belly.

“Yes. I came here to begin my training when I was very young, but didn’t find this place until much later. We were walking around the market before training and then came nearly every morning since then.” Lexa said, her eyes suddenly dropping to her meal which had become very interesting and Clarke realized who the ‘we’ actually meant -- Lexa and Costia. Long before Lexa had become Heda. Long before Costia’s death and long before Lexa had sworn herself away from ever desiring anything for herself again.

In a world where The Commander is not allowed to want anything for herself, being able to find comfort in a small bowl of soupy grains with an estranged friend was to be cherished.

Warmth surged through Clarke’s body, having nothing to do with the steaming food she’d been shoveling into her mouth. Today wasn’t a tour of Polis by The Commander; today was Lexa showing Clarke her home. It was a biography of places, a story that Clarke got not just to see, but feel and taste and smell and  _ experience _ . The rough rocks of the stone wall around the tower on her palms; the smell of a city in the early morning with food and smoke and people and animals and mud… It was overwhelming in the best way possible and she was so  _ grateful _ that she wasn’t still up in space, walking in the same circles around the same rooms, the only things ever changing were the positions of the stars infinite miles away outside the thick windows. 

Lexa looked up at her again, her eyes glassy. Clarke smiled, hoping that Lexa understood the sincere gratitude behind it. This was the continuation of a conversation they had begun  just before everything had gone to shit. Back when Lexa was learning to --  _ wanting _ to -- trust Clarke. Now Lexa was asking for it in return and Clarke knew she was starting to  _ want _ to trust her again. She was weak. She didn’t have to show that part to Lexa, but she knew it was there and god she hated herself for it. 

Clarke already knew that the tour of her wouldn’t be the artificially lit corridors of The Ark, glass and metal twisting into an inescapable maze or even the dark, utilitarian Dropship with it’s stamped metal floors and rusted crevices. The person she was now, the skin she was most comfortable in, was created in a small bunker with a skylight, the sound of rain thrumming on the translucent pane above, the tiny wood burning stove crackling and popping and flickering shadows, the unmade bed where she slept, the coffee table and sofa with the mess of silver grey hair poking up over the top every morning when she opened her eyes. Every morning except the last two, when 14 had slept beside her, Clarke was briefly lost in remembering the secure feeling of 14 curling an arm around her, pulling her close, nuzzling and drowsily murmuring into her ear. 

But that had only been a tiny fraction of their relationship, a few moments of physical comfort  after weeks of physical strain, building trust and healing old wounds with sweat and bruises and blood. She missed her friend. She thought about what it would be like if on the tour of the bunker, 14 had been at her spot on the couch and the way 14 and Lexa would look at each other; a storm converging over the forest.

Before she could stop herself, a half-choked sob mingled with a burst of laughter and bubbled up from her throat, the unshed tears spilling out, caught in her eyelashes. At the sound, she knew Lexa would be watching her -- if she hadn’t been already -- and tried to play it off as a cough.

“I didn’t know that red stuff would be so spicy.” Clarke lied. She knew Lexa knew it was a lie, but Lexa graciously accepted it without question, nodding once and giving Clarke a small smile that didn’t touch her eyes. They both had ghosts that lived in their blood, in their bones, and to speak of them would release them into the world where they might disappear. 

  
  


“When do Skaikru begin their training? Do they teach everyone to fight?” Lexa asked as they walked away from the city center, towards the surrounding woods. 

Clarke laughed, remembering how  _ unprepared _ for the savagery of life on the ground she had been only a few months ago.

“No. We had regular school, like with classrooms and sitting in desks. Like reading and writing and math and science. Even a class called ‘Earth Skills’ where we learned how to do survival stuff like make fires and build shelters. No one ever thought we would need it. We were taught that the world would be unlivable for at least another hundred years.”

“And yet, here you are.” Lexa said as they strolled deeper into the trees, the path winding up a gentle incline.

“Here I am.” Clarke sighed, turning to see Lexa already looking at her. They took several paces, their eyes never breaking contact until the sounds of swordplay -- the clashing metal against metal, against wood -- filtered through the trees ahead. Clarke turned towards the commotion, expecting they would follow the path towards the sound, but Lexa continued on the upward slope.

“That way is The Pits, where guards and warriors train.”

“And where we’re going?” Clarke asked, jutting her chin towards wherever Lexa was leading.

“Where Hedas train.”

 

Clarke shaded her eyes against the sun’s rays as they danced between the leaves and shadows of the trees around her, the charred wood remnants of a fire the only thing keeping her company on the large flat rock overlooking the training area below. She watched for hours, fascinated, as pairs of novitiates drilled attacks and counters under the supervision of the man Lexa had introduced as Titus, her own mentor and advisor, his bald head covered in a crown of geometric tattoos.

As she pulled novitiates from their pairs throughout the day to work with her individually, the size difference between Lexa and some of the children reminded Clarke of when she was a girl, standing on her father’s feet as he waltzed her around their cabin in The Ark, dipping and twirling her as she had squealed with delight. But these weren’t children playing at war and Lexa wasn’t some babysitter sent to coddle them into adulthood. Any one of them needed to be prepared to take her place as Heda when she was gone. She moved, they moved, they moved, she moved -- a choreographed dance where every missed parry and every successful strike was a lesson in the razor thin line between death and life. 

Lexa set down her staff to correct the boy she was training, moving his arm one way, kicking his feet out slightly to form a more stable base, all the while instructing him in a voice too soft for Clarke to hear from her perch. As Lexa raised her staff again, ready for him to put her lesson into practice, Clarke felt the sharp pang of 14’s absence, remembering the hours she had spent training Clarke for the assassination she would never complete. The way she would place her hands on Clarke’s body, strong and precise, correcting her position by millimeters it seemed, and then they would drill again, over and over until it had been etched into Clarke’s muscle memory. 

Before Clarke could even notice the shadows lengthening, the sun had moved across the sky into the late afternoon. When Titus rounded up the youngsters, Clarke watched while Lexa gathered the overshirt she had discarded and climbed the stone steps, her bare arms glistening as they caught the light of the setting sun. She looked radiant, even with her braided hair in disarray, even with dirt on her face, her cheeks flushed from exertion. She was graceful as she sat down next to Clarke, her long legs elegantly folding into a cross-legged position, her head tilted back as she drank from her waterskin before using her forearm to wipe the excess water from her chin.

Clarke couldn’t help but stare, couldn’t help but inhale deeply as Lexa sat close, their shoulders nearly touching, bringing with her the scent of trees and sweat and leather and the faintest traces of soap as the breeze blew through her hair; all of it mingling into a comforting, earthy smell that was just  _ Lexa _ .

“Do you train with them everyday you’re in Polis?” Clarke asked, trying to keep her eyes from following the small beads of sweat as they joined and created tiny rivulets twisting like tiny dancing snakes around Lexa’s exposed skin.

“Not every day, no. But often. If I cannot come here, then they come to the tower and we talk.”

“About what?”

Lexa mulled over Clarke’s question for a few moments, casually wiping the back of her hand across the sweat still clinging to her throat before she turned to look into Clarke’s eyes.

“About what they will have to do as Heda. About what they must be prepared to do. My people, we understand death. Sometimes I think we understand it more than living. Heda must understand the value in both.”

“Did you understand when you were a novitiate?”

“I thought I did.”

“And now?”

“Children can only begin to comprehend sacrifice. It is still abstract, like the feeling of snow if you’ve never been cold or drunkenness if you’ve never felt the burn of  _ souda _ in your throat. You cannot know.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, watching the sky turn from golden to crimson red, the creeping indigo above inching towards the horizon. 

“Thank you, Clarke.” 

It took a moment for Clarke to register that Lexa had even spoken, her voice was so quiet.

“For what?” Clarke asked, her head tilted upwards at the rising moon, the first white pinpricks of stars beginning to shine against the darkening heavens.

“For being willing to try and look past your hatred of me. For your people. I know this must be hard for you.”

Those last words. They weren’t a mistake. But they weren’t an invitation, either. They were words spoken lifetimes ago when they were still learning to trust one another. Still wanting to trust one another.

Clarke turned to face Lexa. They looked at each other a long moment, blue searching green and green searching blue for truths that would never make it to their lips. Not yet. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you mean her harm?" Lexa replied calmly, relying on her experience as Commander to know a lie as it passed from lips to the world outside.
> 
> All of the girl's fury and aggression and desperation melted in an instant and the hand holding the knife fell to her side as she moved back a fraction of an inch.
> 
> "Never," she breathed.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the major delay on this chapter. Life gets in the way. Comments and questions always welcome. Thanks for reading!

The water swirled around her ankles, pushing and pulling as it reached for the shore and retreated back to the deep, like the ocean kept changing its mind about where it wanted her. She wiggled her toes, curling them under and feeling the grit of each grain of sand grinding against itself, against her skin.

“May I speak now?” Lexa’s voice was barely a puff of air against the back of her bare shoulder; it sent a shiver down her spine, her flesh trembling into goosebumps despite the warmth outside.

“I never said you couldn’t.” Clarke answered, squinting against the light sparkling on the water, the sun slowly inching towards the horizon.

“But you didn’t want me to.” Lexa stepped from behind her to stand shoulder to shoulder.

“When has it ever mattered what I wanted?” Clarke turned her head to face Lexa, to look into those liquid green eyes that matched the water at just the depth where her feet wouldn’t be able to touch the sand below. She would drown in those eyes, the water spilling over her head as she abandoned both the land and the sky.

“We make our own choices, we pay our own prices, Clarke.” A harmonious duo of voices wrapped around her, one the stirring command of bloodlust in a soldier, the other like a breathy whisper in the dark that tickled against her ear, each settling beneath her ribs, coiling around each other like snakes.

14 appeared on Clarke’s other side, warpaint around her eyes, streaking down her cheeks, thick and red. Droplets fell from the line of her jaw onto the beach below, the round orbs instantly covered in grains of sand like coarse armor. She knelt, her hands cupped together, and let the ocean’s water flow into them before standing and lifting them towards Clarke.

“But I never wanted any of this,” Clarke said, her voice cracking at the edges, heavy with the strange, torpid emotion of dreams. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to the surface of the water. It was salty, warm, familiar. Tears streamed down her face, dripping off her chin and back into 14’s palms as she drank.

The next sip felt thick in her mouth, hot, metallic. She spat it at her feet and watched as blood faded away into the clear water like smoke.

 

Clarke sat up in bed, the sheets clinging to her sweaty skin, dizzy from getting up too fast. She breathed deeply, still able to taste the iron on her tongue.

The sun was only minutes away from touching the horizon. She must have slept through Lexa’s knocking. Clarke lept out of bed, throwing on a long-sleeve shirt over her tank top and some loose fitting pants from the wardrobe in the corner before bolting out the door towards the stairs leading up to the roof. It wasn’t until her toes wrapped around the cold bars of the ladder that she realized she’d forgotten shoes.

As she climbed out onto the landing, she saw Lexa turn away from the sunrise, her eyebrows rising a fraction of an inch, her mouth barely opening around a question.

“Sorry I slept through the knocking.”

“I didn’t knock on your door this morning, Clarke.”

Clarke sincerely hoped that the orangered light spilling across the sky camouflaged her embarrassment. Lexa was alone on purpose.

“Oh. Sorry. I just thought--I’ll just-- Sorry.” Clarke hurried back towards the passageway leading downward, away from her shame.

“Clarke.”

She froze, her hands stilling around the rungs of the ladder.

“Stop apologizing,” Lexa said, the smallest hint of teasing in her voice, continuing before Clarke had a chance to speak, another apology on her lips. “I didn't wake you this morning because you had already been up here. I know not everyone likes waking up when it's still dark.”

“Do you come out here every morning?” Clarke asked, shifting her weight to one leg, feeling the cold, rough concrete under the soles of her feet as she stood on the roof, tendrils of her hair slowly moving in the wind like water.

“Only when I can't sleep.”

Clarke nodded. She wondered if it was old or new ghosts that haunted her in her dreams last night, knowing that Lexa would never admit to either.

As Clarke moved to stand next to Lexa, against the outer wall of the tower, she watched as Lexa’s eyes flickered away from hers for a moment, quickly taking in the deep neckline of her shirt and the outline of her figure as the wind pushed against the thin fabric of her pants, all the way down to her bare feet, her mouth forming around a small smirk.

“I was in a hurry.” Clarke answered Lexa’s silent ribbing. It was time to change the subject. “So, let’s say I agree to become Skaikru’s Ambassador...”

“You’ve decided, then?”

“I can’t promise that we will become the 13th Clan, but it makes sense for us to have a political presence within Polis if that is what you’re offering.”

“It is.”

“Then what do I have to do?”

“If you agree, there will be a ceremony this evening in front of the other Ambassadors,” Lexa said. She paused, seeming reluctant to speak. “They will need to see Wanheda bow before me, Clarke.”

Clarke gritted her teeth and nodded. This was the price she must pay for her people. Her pride for their prosperity.

They looked at the growing dawn together in silence for a long moment before Clarke lowered her eyes, watching as her fingertips rubbed against the stone wall, noticing how Lexa’s hands were spread similarly next to hers, so still, like she was trying not to move. Clarke imagined sliding her hand across those vast millimeters, the outer edges of their hands coming into contact; the way Lexa would turn and look at her, her eyes asking a thousand questions that Clarke still had no answers for; questions she would never utter aloud, even in the complete isolation of the tower.

Or Lexa would slide her hand further away, out of contact with Clarke’s. The assumption that Lexa would still welcome that touch was presumptive, arrogant, and not in any way helpful in this new alliance they were building. Clarke felt more angry at herself for that temporary insanity than the imminent surrender of power she would have to do tonight.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lexa’s head tilt down, her eyes softening momentarily, an imperceptible flutter of melancholy as she stared at their hands before straightening her posture and walking towards the ladder.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Clarke called after her.

“Today I have meetings,” Lexa said, seeming slightly disappointed that her Commander responsibilities dictated her schedule. “I will see that you have everything you need for the ceremony tonight.”

 

Clarke took a deep breath before sinking beneath the warm water, experimenting with the weightless feeling of her body in the large metal tub. To float, even for just a few moments, the alien sound of her movements under the surface, muted and distorted, womb-like and comforting. She thought what a waste it had been while they were in space to not let everyone feel what it was like to be completely untethered, the Ark’s artificial gravity keeping them forever bound to a false Earth.

While she sat wrapped in a towel, two handmaidens silently prepared her body to be presented at the sundown ceremony. She tried to relax into the soothing sensation of the comb against her scalp, the gentle pulls of their fingers as they twisted her hair into an intricate array of braids, the delicate press of fingertips against her face, spreading a shimmering blue paste across her eyelids forming a mask that reached her temples. But every few minutes, a wave of adrenaline crashed through her bloodstream, making her want to run down thousands of stairs and into the woods, back to the safety of the bunker, back in time to when she was watching the clouds swirl around the blue orb through three inches of glass.

She wondered if these bursts of overwhelming anxiety would ever fully go away or if this is a disease of Earth, a scar that would tether her to the past for the rest of her life.

 

Clarke stood outside the doors to the throne room, her heart thudding against her ribs, a tightness growing in her throat as she listened to the keening wail of the cantor in the next room; her melody full of sorrow for lives and loves and intentions lost to the harsh world.

The large doors opened, their hinges groaning slightly, and Clarke stepped into the room. It looked very different now that her eyes weren’t adjusting to the bright afternoon light after being hidden behind a burlap sack, still woozy from blood-loss and the heart-stopping confusion at seeing Lexa for the first time since their parting at Mount Weather months earlier. Now she was prepared to see Lexa at the opposite end of the room. Or thought she was.

Clarke should have known she would not be in her usual Commander clothing as Clarke had been dressed in an intricately cut leather dress, dyed gold and blue to match her hair and eyes. Lexa’s eye make up was similarly shaped, but green like the forest of her irises and her dress was dark, tight as it wrapped around her torso, bare shoulders and olive skin shimmering faintly, intensified by the hundreds of candles lighting the room, dancing shadows cast against the golden glow. She was stunning, breathtaking in both her beauty and power, looking down at her subjects, the twisted branches of the throne behind her like she commanded not just the Grounders but the entire forest extending in every direction from the edge of the city.

Clarke walked forward, her head held high, each step slow, deliberate, not wanting to trip on the well worn maroon carpet leading to the throne, her path flanked on either side by Ambassadors and other Grounders, knowing dozens of eyes were on her, many unfriendly, wary of the Sky Commander. Her eyes locked on Lexa’s, neither of their faces reflecting anything but the self-assured poise of their rank among their people. And yet, as Clarke got closer, it was like she was no longer propelling herself, instead being pulled forward, her feet numb against the ground, the world in her periphery fading to black until the only thing she saw was the movement of Lexa’s throat as she swallowed, drinking in the sight of Wanheda as she stopped in front of the dais and knelt in front of The Commander.

Clarke heard the shuffling of clothing and boots as the other Grounders followed her to their knees, seeing Roan, Prince of Azgeda -- the man sent to bring her back to civilization, back to Lexa -- out of the corner of her eye with his head bowed towards the Throne.

“Azgeda na spek yo daun gon yo Heda.” _Azgeda will bow before your Commander_. Titus’ voice moved down from the dais and across the room as he walked towards someone who still stood next to where Prince Roan was kneeling.

Clarke cautioned a look to her side and saw an imposing man, clothed in the heavy furs and leathers of Azgeda, his face scarred into lines and symbols in contrast to Trikru’s swirling tattoos.

“Heda-de beda spek em daun gon Azgeda. Osir get in ha osir nou na fis op nou ginteik gon osir baga.” _The Commander should bow before Ice Nation. We know not to make treaties with our enemies._ The man from Azgeda spat his words at Titus.

“Heda nou spek em daun gon non nowe.” _The Commander bows before no one_. Titus’ voice was deadly serious, nearly shaking with rage, and Clarke felt a chill down her spine, feeling absolutely certain that there was more to him than his modest robes and monastic lifestyle.

“Stand down, Titus.” Lexa’s voice remained even, calm, completely unflustered by this derailment of the ceremony. If anything, she sounded slightly weary at having to deal with any of it.

The Azgedan Ambassador gestured towards the throne. “Seintaim em seimbeda sleng kom baga.” _She even prefers the enemy's language_.

“And you will use it, too, in honor of our guest this evening,” Lexa said.

“Shut your mouth and kneel.” Prince Roan growled as he stood, the other Grounders and Clarke following him to their feet, openly watching the conflict.

“I do not take my orders from you, Roan. And ‘guest’?” he continued, turning back towards Lexa. “Wanheda is the leader of our enemies. Why is she still alive? If this is your weakness again, Azgeda will happily step in.”

Clarke realized she had been holding her breath and tried to exhale quietly. _Weakness_. She was the weakness, or rather, Azgeda was insinuating that Lexa’s weakness was the reason she was still allowed to breathe. She assumed no one else knew what had happened in The Commander’s tent before Mount Weather and Lexa had been very formal in their public (and private) interactions in Polis, but perhaps even the suggestion that Heda lacked the resolve to kill Wanheda would be enough to foment doubt among the clans as to The Commander’s strength.

She watched Lexa’s face, and as always, it betrayed no emotion. However, she was pointedly not looking at Clarke through any of this exchange.

“Is that why your Queen has moved her army into Trikru and Skaikru territory?” Titus stepped between the Ambassador and Lexa. It was a casual movement, but Clarke felt her suspicions confirmed that his job description might include more than just advising.

“Oh those were just military exercises. Their proximity to Trikru and Polis were a mistake and quickly rectified,” the Ambassador waved his hand dismissively.

“The Ice Queen doesn't make mistakes. She makes threats.” Titus countered, his hands carefully clasped behind his back.

“Enough.” Lexa said, raising her hand slightly, silencing the room. “There's no need to argue about this again. I understand your concerns, Ambassador, and would like to speak with you privately before we continue. I have a message for Queen Nia. Please come join me.”

The Ambassador looked smugly towards Roan and sneered at Clarke as he walked to follow Lexa out onto the balcony. Clarke prepared to strain her ears, trying to hear what message Lexa had for Azgeda’s Queen.

She saw the Ambassador’s lips move as he stepped around Lexa, towards the balcony railing and then before she was even sure what she was seeing, Lexa’s hand went to the side of her skirt, not for the knife that was usually strapped to her thigh when she wore pants, but grabbing a handful of the fabric and lifting the skirt slightly before a flash of bare skin as she raised her leg and kicked the Ambassador in the chest, sending him backwards over the rail.

Without watching him fall the hundreds of feet to the ground, Lexa turned and walked back into the room, calm and tranquil, her eyes finding Clarke’s before moving her gaze towards Roan who met hers unflinchingly, respectfully. Clarke felt a mixture of fear, pride, and excitement. She has just seen Lexa murder a man for insolence and to send an unequivocal message of strength to Queen Nia and the entire crowd of Grounders gathered before her. She wondered how close she had been to the same fate when Lexa had removed the sack from her head in this very room days earlier, and she had spit in The Commander’s face.

“Hail, warriors of the 12 Clans.” Lexa’s voice boomed throughout the stone room, looking around at the coalition members in front of her.

“Hail, Commander of the Blood,” The Grounders chanted in response.

“We welcome Clarke kom Skaikru... Legendary Wanheda, Mountain Slayer to our halls in the spirit of friendship and harmony.”

Clarke felt her skin flush with heat, not knowing whether it was the warmth of so many bodies pressed into a room or the fiery gaze of Lexa’s eyes as they found hers again.

“If this coalition, the future of all our people, is to stand, then we must look beyond our differences and see that whether from forest, desert, mountains, water or sky, that all kru are welcome under the banner of peace and cooperation. With Wanheda’s fealty comes the promise of working towards peace between Skaikru and the 12 Clans. Peace for us all.”

“Osir Hogeda.” _Us All_. The sound of The Grounders voices together as one in response to their Commander reverberated in Clarke’s chest.

 

Clarke stood away from the rest of the Grounders and Ambassadors in the throne room as they mingled and gossipped after the ceremony. A large table of food had been set out, but Clarke found that her nerves had muted her appetite, instead opting for a mug of some sort of fermented beverage. It was tart, earthy, and had a slightly sweet burn as it slid down her throat, radiating a slow heat through her belly. She stood on the balcony overlooking Polis, leaning against the doorframe where glass used to be.

“How does this compare to Skaikru ceremonies?”

Clarke turned towards the voice, and even knowing it was Lexa, she never felt fully prepared for her to be in such close proximity.

“A lot more leather,” Clarke said, laughing as she looked down at her tight dress, consciously trying to keep her eyes away from Lexa, and failing as they caught a slight glimpse from beneath her lowered lashes. “And the refreshments are better,” she continued, lifting her cup in a modest toast.

Lexa smiled, small as always, but it reached her eyes, her hardness softened and warmed slightly by the half-empty cup she held in her hand.

“Everyone will be returning to their rooms soon or down into the city to continue the evening.”

Clarke nodded. It was time for her to leave, but neither of those options appealed to her and she was sure Lexa saw the hesitation across her face.

“Get changed into your regular clothes.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll be outside your door shortly,” Lexa called over her shoulder as she walked back towards the crowded room, disappearing among her people.

 

Clarke followed Lexa through the woods, trying her best to stay on the narrow footpath. Lexa, like all of the Grounders she met, could move through the woods more quietly than a deer. She had gotten better at forest-walking in the weeks she had spent alone in the wilderness, but every crunched leaf and snapped twig underfoot made her cringe at her clumsiness.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re not hunting.”

Clarke remembered being the prey many months ago as Anya had dragged her away from Mt. Weather, her hands bound while they tried to evade recapture. She could feel the cold mud slapped across her face as Anya tried to camouflage them and she smiled at the memory, a single puff of air escaping audibly from her nose.

“What?” Lexa asked, slowing her pace to look at Clarke, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

“Nothing. I was just remembering walking through the woods with Anya when we escaped Mount Weather. She told me I was too loud. And that I stank,” Clarke said her voice beginning to tremble. Another death. More blood seeping between her fingers as she tried to push life and her own butchered innocence back into another body before it expired under her palms. But then Clarke pictured Anya alive and she felt the ghost of Anya’s calculating grin pass across her own face. “Then she slapped a handful of mud on my face.”

Lexa smiled before turning and continuing forward, Clarke now at her side.

“You’re quieter than most of your people,” Lexa mused before leaning over, closing her eyes and inhaling slowly, deeply. The solemn mask of The Commander was perfectly in place when she drew back, looking at Clarke with complete seriousness before returning her attention ahead of them. “And you smell better than when you arrived in Polis.”

Clarke glared at her before laughing and nudging Lexa with her shoulder. She received a sly pull at the corner of Lexa’s mouth in return.

It was the strange, awkward dance of getting to know someone beyond pleasantries, beyond the layered walls their titles built around them, remembering that they didn’t need to fall back into who they had to be for other people.

Everything in Clarke’s mind told her to be cautious, careful; to pay attention and remember the mountain. And her body betrayed her at every opportunity; her core going into freefall as Lexa had leaned in moments before, the instant quickening of her heart sending a flush of heat to her skin. She was a moth fluttering towards Lexa’s flame, ignoring the wind as it tried to keep her away, tried to warn her that she would burn.

 

Clarke’s eyes had become accustomed to the sparse, dappled grey light across their path in the forest so when Lexa led them onto a flat, stone outcropping, she nearly had to squint at the silver moonlight reflected off the smooth ground.

They were up on the far side of a small hill just outside the glowing lights of the city. It was dark and peaceful and Clarke had never seen the sky so wide open and inky black as it reached towards the jagged silhouettes of trees miles away. She felt the distant roll of thunder as stormclouds clouds crept across the edge of the sky towards them.

“It’s beautiful up here.” Clarke said, awestruck. This world could still take her breath away. She hoped it always would, making the parts where she really couldn’t breathe more bearable.

“It’s one of my favorite places in Polis,” Lexa said as she knelt on the ground, shifting flat onto her back. Clarke followed Lexa down onto the hard rock, their heads side by side and and their legs straight out, the twinkling cosmos looking back at them.

“Do you think I was right to kill the Azgeda Ambassador?” Lexa asked after several minutes of silence.

The question caught Clarke off guard.

“Did you want to kill him?”

“In that moment, yes. I had to show I was not weak for letting Wanheda live.”

“Did you want to kill me? When I spit in your face?”

“Kill you? No. But if we hadn’t been alone, I’m not sure what I would have had to do. Leadership can only endure so long as people are willing to be led.”

“Can a Commander lose their position?” Clarke asked, remembering Lexa had talked about reincarnation when they were trapped in the zoo with Pauna.

“In death, of course, yes. But I wanted to give my people other options if they truly felt their Commander was wrongly chosen. So a unanimous vote of the clans will remove them from power. Or a challenge of combat that must end in death. If the spirit of the past Commanders chooses a new leader, then that is the way it must be. Why? How are your leaders chosen?”

“By a vote.”

“And if they didn’t show the wisdom of a true leader?”

“Depends. If they committed a crime, then they would be floated. Otherwise, there were votes every few years.”

“Floated?” Lexa asked, the word familiar but not its meaning in this context.

“Put into the airlock. When it opened, they would be sucked out into space to die. It’s what was going to happen to me before they decided to send us down here.” Clarke tried to hide the bitterness in her voice, remembering her father tumbling into the void as he was ripped from The Ark in front of her eyes. The cruelty of her people was in some ways worse than the harsh ways of the Grounders. She tried to focus her mind on the present, the past filled with enough tears to drown her on this hilltop.

“The stars looks so different from down here. Earth, I mean,” Clarke murmured. “And still also the same.”

“Do you miss your home, Clarke?”

“Arkadia?”

“The sky.”

Clarke thought to herself for a few moments. Was the beauty of the world worth the difficulty of trying to survive on Earth? Was it any more bearable than the darkness of space? It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

“We all would have died up there.”

“Everyone dies down here, too. No one escapes death.”

No one escapes me, Clarke thought, the familiar roiling of nausea returning for a moment.

“I miss the way it felt to look out the window and see this swirling blue and green and brown marble in front of me, white clouds constantly moving and changing shape and thinking about what trees smelled like and what being really cold or hot felt like and how the ocean would sound in real life. I would draw different places all the time from dreams I had. I probably looked down at this very spot at one point.” Clarke paused, taking a moment to breathe in the crisp, piney air.

Lexa was quiet for a long moment before she started to fidget slightly and just as Clarke was about to ask what she was doing, she extended her arm upwards, pointing a finger overhead.

“Do you see that one star up there, just to the left -- your left -- of those 2 that are close together? It’s dimmer than they are.”

Clarke followed the tip of Lexa’s finger with her eyes, finding the two stars and then, just to the left, there was one just slightly less brilliant than the others.

“That’s where your people came from.”

The effect was both profound and dizzying. She could never go home to the place she had known her entire life and at that exact same moment, she also felt the certainty settle into place, into her bones and fingertips and organs and heart that she was home. It felt like a betrayal to her stars, to everyone who had died before she reached this hilltop, the extinguished fates of her family and friends shining back at her. They would never know the feeling of Earth beneath their feet.

Warm tears spilled out from the corners of her eyes and slid past her temples, running into her hair. She took a shaky breath, sniffling slightly and swallowing any sobs that threatened to bubble past her throat.

Lexa remained still, silent, allowing Clarke this moment to feel overwhelmed and complete at the same time, the infinite depth of Lexa’s comforting strength spilling over both of them, soothing Clarke like the weight of a heavy blanket as the stormclouds continued to spread across the sky, lightning crackling in their dark depths.

 

The air between them was thick with tension as Lexa and Clarke walked down the empty hallway to Clarke’s room, pausing outside the door, their wet boots coming to a squeaky stop on the stone floor.

“Thank you for…” Clarke began, not really sure what she was thanking Lexa for. For showing her Polis the day before? For trying to find a way for their people to co-exist peacefully? For bringing her up to that hilltop and letting her see her home again?

Lexa raised her hand slightly, cutting Clarke off, but her eyes were kind, the warmth in them extending through the space between them and radiating across Clarke’s skin.

“You are the one who deserves my thanks, Clarke. I could not forge peace between our people alone. And I hope your people will choose to join my coalition,” Lexa said, her voice soft and earnest. “Your heart continues to show strength.”

They held each other’s gaze for long heartbeats, each trying to push aside the pull of hypotheticals… If they were any other two girls… If they weren’t the leaders of their people… If they weren’t each standing on opposite sides of a chasm filled with blood and betrayal waiting for the other to leap…

“And my head?” Clarke asked, reaching behind her back to open her door, her eyes never leaving Lexa’s.

“Wisdom,” Lexa answered, swallowing hard and taking a step backwards, away from the edge of their destruction.

“Reshop, Heda.” _Goodnight, Commander_.

“Goodnight, Ambassador.”

 

Clarke’s door clicked shut behind her as Lexa continued down the hallway to her own room, the wind and rain picking up in intensity outside.

Lexa entered her room, empty and dimly lit with only a few candles on a nearby table. She pulled off her damp coat, tossing it on a chair and moved towards the large table covered in maps and books. She leaned forward against it, supporting her weight on outstretched arms, flattening her palms against the cool, smooth wood. Taking deep gulps of air, Lexa tried to dilute the spinning sensation the tense goodbye in the hallway had left in her body, her heart clenching around the emptiness as she felt the intoxication evaporate from her blood.

Lexa closed her eyes, remembering the terror she had felt the moment before she pressed her lips to Clarke’s and the divine absolution in Clarke pulling her deeper into the kiss. Each time she allowed herself to relive that moment, it always started from the place where her heart was pounding, where she was afraid and uncertain, knowing how unburdened and full she would feel as her memory unfolded. And if that was the last time she would ever allow herself to feel that yearning for another person, the last time she would ever feel it reciprocated -- as she knew it must be -- then she would allow herself time to dwell in that memory sometimes. She would allow herself that weakness.

There was no way Clarke would ever look at her like that again; like she would peel away every layer of every scar covering Lexa’s spirit and still want to touch the truth beneath.

The rain outside had become a deafening roar and Lexa was so lost in her momentary respite that by the time she felt the air shift next to her, it was too late. Faster than even Lexa could react, strong hands gripped around her shirt as she was pushed backwards against the wall, a forearm pressing so hard against her chest she could feel her ribs bending, her pulse beating underneath the cool edge of the blade at her throat.

"WHERE IS SHE?!" the girl shouted, scarcely above a whisper, her voice hoarse and strained, cracking around the edges, her face barely more than an inch from Lexa’s.

Against the darkness of the room, the girl’s light hair seemed to glow like silver around her gaunt cheeks, her starved appearance belied the strength and speed she still possessed. Lexa felt the knife against her neck, so precisely placed it would take only the tiniest flick to leave Heda bleeding out on the floor. This was the second time she'd had a blade pressed against her throat in the past week, Lexa thought with wry amusement. She stared back coolly at the eyes in front of her, frenzied and gleaming grey like lighting behind a storm cloud.

"Who?" Lexa asked, her eyebrows knitting together slightly at the mystery of the girl and her quest.

"Clarke! Is she ok?"

Not Wanheda. Not Klark kom Skaikru. This intruder knew Clarke. She was not from one of her 12 Clans, of that Lexa was certain. She recognized nothing about her clothing or any tattoos or other markings, though it was admittedly hard to tell much from the amount of dried blood and grime covering her face.

"Do you mean her harm?" Lexa replied calmly, relying on her experience as Commander to know a lie as it passed from lips to the world outside.

All of the girl's fury and aggression and desperation melted in an instant and the hand holding the knife fell to her side as she moved back a fraction of an inch.

"Never," she breathed.

Lexa held her gaze for another long moment, clenching and unclenching her jaw as she decided what to do. She did not fear her own death, but she knew she could not bear Clarke’s. It was a truth that could never leave her lips. She had learned that lesson years ago. And despite everything in her mind telling her to go on the offensive, to attack -- to kill -- this intruder, in a way she couldn’t explain, she knew she wasn’t a threat to Clarke. What she was to Clarke, however, Lexa would have to trust Clarke to explain.

“Wait here,” Lexa said, moving past the girl and walking out of her room.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was adrift in the dark, her stars hidden by stormclouds, numbly walking towards her bed. The acrid scent of smoke hung heavy in the room. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry the updates are taking so long, but thanks for sticking around. :)

Lexa tried to quell the riot her heart and lungs were beating within her ribs as she knocked on Clarke’s door and she was momentarily stunned by the way curiosity melted into a slow smile on Clarke’s face when the door opened, as if she’d been expecting her all along.

“Clarke, come with me.” Lexa said, reaching for her hand, knowing that the gesture could be interpreted to mean a lot more than just urgency. The ramifications of those emotions would have to wait until later.

They hurried down the hall and into Lexa’s room. The girl still leaned against the wall where Lexa had left her.

Clarke’s eyes filled with tears, her face twisting with emotion, her body completely still for a few moments before she ran forward, colliding with the girl into a tight hug. Lexa could see Clarke’s face buried into her neck, their shoulders rising in tandem, each breathing the other in, their fingertips going white with the ferocity of their embrace. 

Lexa didn’t realize she had inhaled deeply as she watched them, only becoming aware as the smell of rain and faint copperiness of blood pooled in the back of her mind and the ache in her chest spread like fire through her limbs, her skin awash in the phantom touch of hands that would never hold her body in desperation. 

“I thought you were dead,” Clarke choked out, her voice breaking against the tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I got away,” the girl answered quietly, pulling back, their bodies remaining close, each reluctant to allow more space between them than necessary. Lexa’s eyes followed the girl’s, roaming over Clarke’s face, her fingertips gently touching the new pink skin at her neck. “I’m so sorry, Clarke,” the girl whispered as Clarke shook her head and pulled her in for another hug.

Clarke’s eyes found Lexa’s this time, a thousand apologies and explanations swirling in their glassy blue depths and Lexa nearly trembled with the effort at not demanding the answers to the scene unfolding in her bedroom. 

When Clarke and the girl broke apart a second time, she turned towards Lexa, moving forward, her hand extended. Behind her, Lexa could see Clarke’s brow furrow as she held her palms in front of her, dark and sticky with blood. Just out of Clarke’s reach, the girl’s legs wobbled beneath her, and she collapsed forward, slamming into the table before falling onto the ground. In an instant, Clarke and Lexa were kneeling at her side.

Lexa watched as Clarke opened the girl’s jacket and lifted her shirt to her prominent ribs, exposing a shocking map of scars; they looked unlike any she’d ever seen, on her warriors’ bodies, on her own. They were so faint, so pale against the girl’s smooth skin and so numerous, it would take a lifetime for a single body to heal them all. Her eyes were wide as she followed the thin, calm white lines to the seeping, angry red ones, barely held together with bits of metal that would have been in an orderly row, but some had ripped free leaving the edges of the wound jagged like pieces of a puzzle.

“No. No no no no,” Clarke muttered over and over. “14, please. Stay awake. Stay with me.”

14\. That was the girl’s name. Lexa made a mental note to ask her about it if she survived the night. She hadn’t ever met people with numerical names before and wondered where they were from. If they were a threat. To her people. To Clarke’s.

In a confusing blur of motion, Clarke reached for the blade Lexa kept strapped to her thigh just as 14’s hand shot out, wrapping around Clarke’s wrist.

“No. It doesn’t work anymore. I don’t work anymore. They changed something in the code.” 14’s voice was barely audible against the thrumming rain outside, her hand still holding onto Clarke’s wrist.

“I have to try. Please,” Clarke begged.

“You don’t understand. I tried, Clarke. So many times. I couldn’t keep it down. Something is wrong. If it kills me, then I die. I won’t take any more from you.” 14’s eyes shifted to look into Lexa’s and she recognized the pleading look of a warrior begging for release.

She was frozen in place, her own eyes looking between the desperation in Clarke’s and the resigned fate of the girl’s. In any other situation, she would have drawn her knife and slit the girl’s throat, sending her back to her ancestors. But even with her limited knowledge of their relationship, she knew this girl’s death would be another crushing weight for Clarke to bear, slowly bending and breaking her until she was ground to dust, a living ghost moving through the world.

Still unsure of what exactly they were talking about, Lexa reached down and placed her hand over 14’s, gently but firmly removing her fingers from Clarke’s wrist.

“Your fight is not over,” Lexa said, using the tone of The Commander as she would to any of her own warriors, her eyes never leaving 14’s. She hoped the girl would find her own strength in it.

Clarke unsheathed the knife and took a deep breath, gritting her teeth. Before Lexa could stop her, she drew the knife quickly against the underside of her forearm, blood dripping slow and thick onto the stone floor. 

Lexa watched in shocked horror as Clarke quickly moved her arm towards 14, lowering it towards her parted lips, a low groan rumbling the girl’s throat as Clarke’s blood flowed over her tongue. 

Clarke’s eyes shut tightly in discomfort for a moment before a gasping whimper balancing on the edge of pleasure and pain escaped her lips. The sound of it travelled the small space between them, shooting down Lexa’s spine, through every nerve in her body before coming to rest in her core, throbbing in time with the roaring pulse in her ears. It was a sound that belonged in the sweaty dark, with lips pressed to ears and soft flesh and wetness and racing hearts and panting breath. It was not a sound she ever expected to hear again. One that she would hoard greedily in her most sacred places. One that would drive her mad if she let it out into her mind too often.

She could feel her mouth open slightly, unable to speak around the tightness in her throat; and in Clarke’s eyes as she turned to face her, dark blue and dilated, Lexa could see her own astonished desire looking back at her. 

They sat watching each other, the rain outside slowing into silence, the only marker of time the soft rhythmic sucking sound of 14’s mouth in contrast to the uneven tempo of Clarke’s breathing as Lexa tried to keep hers under control. She watched as Clarke’s brow knit and relaxed, a thin sheen of sweat covering her skin, wondering what it tasted like, wondering what Clarke was thinking and feeling as she bit her lower lip, stifling another small gasp, her gaze never leaving Lexa’s. 

After an eternity spanning only minutes, 14 released Clarke’s arm, using her free hand to reach for the knife next to her. She pressed it into her palm, blood seeping from between her fingers before wrapping her hand around Clarke’s wound.

The movement seemed to jar all of them back from their stupors, Lexa moving away from Clarke, feeling embarrassed and ashamed at her foolishness as she busied herself in a drawer, returning with a two strips of cloth which 14 tied around Clarke’s arm before attending to her own hand.

A soft blush colored 14’s cheeks, still sharp angles and hunger, but she at least looked more human than ghost. _Human_ , Lexa thought. If that’s even what she could be called. In her years as Commander and as a novitiate and even as a child, she’d never heard of anything like what she had just witnessed. She knew stories of people eating the flesh from the dead. When the world ended, there was no food and those that could survive the air found sustenance in those that couldn’t. She had even heard of recent acts in the far North of Azgeda’s territory where the weather was unforgiving and a single bad season could mean a village wouldn’t have enough food. But this… Drinking the blood of a living person… She would need to ask Titus if he had any knowledge of these people. This seemed uncomfortably similar to the bloodletting her people had experienced at the hands of The Mountain Men. 

“I need to clean up those cuts and stitch them closed.” Clarke asked, slowly getting to her feet. “My room is down the hall.”

14 nodded, her grey eyes haunted, bewildered as she pushed herself from the ground. 

 

The girl’s arm was draped around her shoulders, her weight becoming more heavy with every step as they left the hallway and entered Clarke’s room. Her breathing was labored with effort, but Lexa held on, her arm gripping the girl’s waist. 

“Where should I put her?” she asked, standing in the middle of the room, feeling 14’s head nod forward before popping back up, like she was floating, barely remaining above the waves, awake. 

“Over on the couch,” Clarke answered, grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit Lexa had instructed her servants to leave for her. She watched as Clarke took a massive bite and smiled to herself as she saw Clarke’s eyes close briefly, savoring the sweetness before she disappeared into the bathroom.

Lexa gently lowered 14’s body onto the sofa. She could feel the girl tensing under her hands as her wounds stretched painfully. Clarke returned to the room carrying a water basin, some clean pieces of cloth, and a bottle of strong, clear _souda_.

“Should I send for one of my healers?” Lexa asked, standing and moving some of the lit candles closer to the sofa. 

“No. I have what I need here,” Clarke answered, arranging her supplies on a low table. “Help me with her clothes?”

Lexa tried not to think too much about what exactly was happening on Clarke’s couch as they carefully stripped 14 of her clothing until she was only wearing her underwear and bra. She watched Clarke’s fingers tracing lightly over 14’s skin, using a damp rag to gently wipe away the dried blood and dirt, the girl’s chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths as she teetered on the edge of consciousness. 

14’s jaw set and she inhaled sharply as Clarke removed the remaining staples from the deep cuts around her ribs, setting them on the table with a soft plinking sound. She was quiet again, possibly even asleep, her head facing into the cushions as Clarke began passing the needle through her skin, pulling the edges together, blood seeping through the spaces between the thread.

Lexa watched Clarke’s practiced hands work, not sure what to say -- if she should say anything -- and was grateful when Clarke broke the silence.

“I know I owe you answers,” Clarke began, looking up at Lexa as she tied off one row of stitches before moving her attention to another one of the gaping cuts.

“Clarke--”

“No. Let me finish. I didn’t tell you about her because I thought she was dead. And the last time we saw each other, she made me promise not to tell anyone about her or her people.” Clarke swallowed hard, waiting for her voice to steady. “Her story before I met her isn’t mine to tell. But when I found her, she had been hanged, shot, and I don’t know what else. I thought she was going to die.”

“So you gave her your blood?” Lexa asked.

“No. I didn’t know about that until the last time I saw her,” Clarke said, her hand moving to the side of her neck, barely touching the shiny, smooth new skin before resuming her work. “But the first morning, she brought back a rabbit. There wasn’t any blood. I guess I didn’t think anything of it. I was grateful at the time. The sight of blood… I was trying to become... Everything you’d taught me before The Mountain. About not caring. About closing myself off. I knew I couldn’t stop feeling everything, but I tried to find a way to deal with it.” Clarke looked up at Lexa and Lexa knew just as she was, Clarke was reliving the confrontation in her tent, each knowing that Lexa wasn’t immune to feelings either as she’d confessed hers for Clarke that day. “After I killed all those people, I hated everything I was and everything I’d become. So I thought that maybe if I could at least try to become… harder, stronger… that it wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe the nightmares would go away.”

Lexa felt her expression soften, wondering what her face must have been conveying before. She hoped Clarke could see the regret in her eyes. She meant it when she said she never wanted to turn Clarke into “this” -- into her. Into a person who pushed all feelings aside for her people. Clarke was too good for that, had too much to offer, to distance herself off from everyone. Clarke was born for leadership, this was true, but she hadn’t been raised like Lexa had. She’d had a childhood and friends and the love of her parents. She hadn’t been ripped from her family the moment her people had seen her blood spill black as night as she’d tripped and fallen while playing with the other children in her village. 

Her way wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- be Clarke’s way.

Lexa was pulled from her thoughts as Clarke continued.

”We found a bunker when the winter rains started and stayed there. She knew about Skaikru and your people. The alliance and Mount Weather. She asked if I wanted to kill you. And in that moment, I did, so she started to train me.“

As Clarke tied off the last stitch and began unfastening the bandage around her own arm, Lexa gently pulled a blanket across 14’s exposed skin and allowed herself to study the body on the couch. Although she was thin with hunger, Lexa could see the sheathing of muscle from her back as it wrapped around her ribs and hips, the rounded caps of strong shoulders and an planes of shadows and highlights along her defined legs. She had no doubt that this girl was capable of much more violence than holding knives to surprised throats. 

“She trained you well,” Lexa said, fighting against allowing the melancholy to seep into her voice; against imagining the weeks 14 had been able to spend in Clarke’s company. 

“Did she?” Clarke asked, unwrapping the bandage around her own arm.

“She did,” Lexa answered, remembering the watery blue of Clarke’s eyes as her resolve had faltered. “But I’m glad you changed your mind.”

Her mouth quirked up in a small smile, and Clarke answered with a small grin of her own.

“Shit,” Clarke muttered. “I’m going to need to close this up. Hand me that bottle?”

Lexa passed her the bottle of clear alcohol and felt herself holding her breath as Clarke poured some over the needle, letting it splash into her wound, hissing at the sting. She watched Clarke move the needle towards her arm, her hand trembling from blood loss, from adrenaline.

Without even thinking, Lexa’s hand was wrapped around Clarke’s, taking the needle and thread from her. She dipped her hands into the basin now filled with alcohol and looked into Clarke’s surprised face. She was a warrior, after all, and every warrior knew how to stitch a small cut closed.

“How did Roan find you?” Lexa asked as she pushed the needle through Clarke’s warm skin. She wanted to keep her talking, both for her own selfish reasons and to distract Clarke from the pain. 

“We were out walking once the rains stopped. Her people found us,” Clarke paused, clearly lost in a painful memory, her eyes distant and sad. “They were going to take us both back to her people. To experiment on us. She killed someone she cared about to save me.”

“And your neck?”

“To make them think I was dead,” Clarke answered, wincing slightly as Lexa tugged the largest gap of skin together. “I didn’t know what she did to me. It all happened so fast. There was so much blood. Mine. The guards she killed. I thought I was going to die. When I woke up, I was on Roan’s horse.”

“You must have been worried about her,” Lexa said, looking at 14.

Clarke nodded. “I was, but I’ve also gotten used to people being in my life one minute and gone the next. We had spent so much time together and to just have her gone and not know what happened... It was just hard not to be able to talk about it with anyone. She’s...”

“Special.”

Lexa didn’t realize she had spoken until she heard her own whispered voice in the air and the emotion it brought to Clarke’s eyes only confirmed what she knew in her gut. That Clarke and 14 meant something to each other beyond mentor and student, beyond companionship out of necessity and survival. The world was falling away beneath her and her only tether was the thin piece of string in her hand as she tied the last of Clarke’s stitches.

Lexa looked at her for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip.

Every moment of silence between them felt like an unspoken confession and only added to the constant blurring and redrawing the lines between them. And so she would have to protect herself in order to protect Clarke. The line would have to hold. 

“I’m glad you found each other again,” she finally said.

“I’m sorry. I--”

“Don’t be. Don’t ever apologize for what you have to do, Clarke,” Lexa said with the smallest shake of her head. “Not to me.”

She watched as Clarke’s eyebrows knit together, confused at her tone and sudden shift in demeanor. Lexa hated herself for where she knew she must steer the conversation, knowing that she would have to press forward, accept that what she might want wasn’t in her fate. It never was and never would be and it was foolish of her to think that she could be anything but Heda to anyone.

“But you’ve apologized to me,” Clarke said.

“I apologized for hurting _you_ , not for what I did for my people at Mount Weather,” Lexa responded tersely. “And even that was weakness on my part.”

“So, what? You apologized because I had _feelings_ about you betraying _me_? Why do you think I couldn't hurt you just the same?” Clarke asked, her voice small and scared. 

That was the problem, thought Lexa. Despite telling herself that she was in control, she had allowed Clarke to fasten herself so deeply within herself that if Lexa didn’t tear her out now, she would grow like ivy until every vein and muscle fiber was wrapped in Clarke. 

“Because I’d never let you,” Lexa answered before getting to her feet.

 

Her voice was so controlled. So steady. Clarke felt her stomach clench as she looked into Lexa’s eyes, glassy with tears that would never spill over, the mask of The Commander covering the rest of her features like stone. The growing closeness between them over the last few days vanished, snuffed out like the candles on the table as if in a vacuum when Lexa closed the door behind her, taking all of the oxygen in the room with her. It was like the breath had been pulled from her lungs. The airlock doors opening as she was yanked outside the boundary line between where Heda ended and Lexa began.

She was adrift in the dark, her stars hidden by stormclouds, numbly walking towards her bed. The acrid scent of smoke hung heavy in the room. 

 

Through the din of the returned rain, 14 lay listening to Clarke’s muffled grief, sure that if her hearing were keener, The Commander’s room would sound like a mirrored echo of Clarke’s despair.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know,” Lexa said, handing 14 the bottle. She turned to walk back towards her room, 14 following silently behind her. 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter was originally going to continue on a bit longer, but some important stuff happens coming up so I wanted more time to flesh it out. And I realize that where this ends sets up some... expectations... and I will say (without giving too much away) that nothing is what it seems. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the story. Feedback welcome. :)

Chit don ai odon?

_What have I done?_

Her face was sore and puffy, eyes scratchy and dry as she rubbed the sleep from them with the heels of her palms. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she must have somewhere between the crying and the dawn.

 _Pain_.

It was a living thing inside of her. No longer sleeping, waiting; it had stirred, opening it’s jaws wide to swallow her whole. It breathed as she breathed, compressing into a small, incomprehensibly heavy weight inside her chest as her lungs filled with air and expanding to fill every space underneath her skin as she exhaled.

Lexa dressed in the weak morning light, still dazed and distracted by lack of sleep and excess of remorse. It wasn’t until she pulled her lightweight leather armor over her shirt instead of her usual shoulder guard and cape that she realized where her subconscious was leading her.

She could sense The Pits before it came into view. The smell of sweat and leather intermingled with the piney air as she left the forest path behind her and she could taste the swirls of dust kicked up by the early morning sparring sessions. As soon as her warriors saw her, the happy shouts began, banging their weapons on shields and earth like war drums welcoming her home.

Lexa walked along the row of wood and metal weapons, holding out a gloved hand and letting her long fingers drag across their handles and dulled edges, stopping finally at a pair of two short swords. She took one in each hand, rotating her wrists, elbows, and shoulders, warming up her joints while watching pairs of warriors attack and defend, grunts of defeat and the barking laughter of victory on the air. She still felt stiff and exhausted as she walked towards the fighting area, but when is anyone ever truly ready for battle?

The sun was nearly overhead by the time Lexa stepped away from training, placing her swords back on the rack before gently wiping the blood from her nose with the back of her hand, black like ink stains. She had done well today, fighting until her muscles trembled, her breath coming in gasps, eyes red and stinging from sweat.

Unlike the kings and emperors of the past, her warriors attacked her without hesitation. It wasn’t their job to make her look better than she was, it was her job to earn their respect by being better. Sometimes a well-placed blow landed, sometimes she allowed them to hit her, the pain reminding her she’s alive, reminding her that there are those who aren’t, reminding her that she can’t let herself drown in it. She can’t allow herself to wallow in the shallows of her grief, sinking into the mud and mire before the next strike comes.

The ache in her heart had been dulled by the pain across her skin. She was grateful. Pain on the inside breeds weakness. Pain on the outside builds strength. As she drank from her waterskin, she felt an odd prickling in the back of her mind, like she was being watched, like how it felt when the spirits of the previous Commanders were trying to guide her. She turned to see a figure retreating into the trees, pewter-colored hair turning to charcoal, melting into the forest shadows.

 

It was the sound of paper that woke her. The soft slide of a page’s edge against its neighbors drew her back towards the world of the living, and with consciousness came the slow tsunami of memories from the night before. She squeezed her eyes closed, curling her body into a ball, hoping she would just get smaller and smaller until she disappeared. But she didn't vanish and neither did the burning, twisting feeling in her stomach. Slowly, Clarke opened her eyes, feeling the air touch the dampness of her lashes. The room was dark and cool, the curtains drawn against the daylight and cast the walls in a soft blue hue. Clarke pulled back the covers and padded over to the sofa where 14 sat leaning against the armrest, reading. She was dressed, her feet extended across the couch, her boots placed neatly on the floor, and Clarke wondered where 14 had gone while she'd slept.

“How are you feeling?” 14 asked, closing her book and looking at Clarke as she sank into the worn cushion at the other end of the couch. Her grey eyes were soft and warm. She nudged a plate of food across the low table and Clarke couldn’t help but smile, feeling the emotion squeezing her throat, overwhelmed at the familiarity of sitting with 14. There was an uncompromising finality to seeing someone pulled out of an airlock into the darkness of space. But on Earth, death and life seemed to walk along the same path; people moving from living to dead as they parted ways, and back to living again if their paths happened to cross again. Clarke didn’t think she would ever get used to it.

“Tired.” Clarke stifled a yawn and stretched, pulling her arm back slightly as her stitches strained. She held her arm out to 14’s open hands and closed her eyes as gentle fingers pressed around her wound.

“You’re healing well,” 14 said, releasing Clarke’s arm.

“And you?”

14 stood, pulling her shirt up over her shoulders so that it hung around her neck like a scarf. Clarke wasn’t modest by any means, but the nonchalance 14 felt about her own body always reminded her of the reality of 14’s existence, constantly required to expose herself, to hold still, to bleed. Clarke scooted to the edge of the sofa and examined the deep cuts she had stitched together, the redness and heat of infection gone, the subcutaneous layers already fusing well. She traced her fingertips over a particularly ugly and new scar, still a deep, dark pink, near the front of 14’s shoulder, just outside of her bra strap, below her clavicle.

“Had to dig out a bullet on my way here,” 14 answered Clarke’s silent question, pulling her arms back through her sleeves and sitting back down on the couch.

“What did they do to you? How did you get away? How did you know I would be here?” The questions came out in a rushed jumble and for a moment, Clarke was worried she was pressing too hard, that she should let 14 talk at her own pace, that she should just mind her own business, but then she saw the slow smile of amusement spread across 14’s lips and she felt herself relax. Everything was fine, or at least, it would be. Between them, anyway.

“They tranqued me outside and I think at least once more in the vehicle. I remember walking up on the operating table. Then nothing. There were stitches here,” 14 said, turning her head to reveal a vertical scar just at the edge of her hair line on the back of her neck. “But I don't know what they did.”

Clarke pressed her fingers against the smooth skin.

“I can't feel anything, though it looks like it healed much faster than the ones on your ribs. No infection.”

14 looked puzzled, her eyebrows knitting together before she shrugged and continued. “Everything after was just a blur.” 14’s voice was hard, her jaw clenching a few times before she bit her lower lip. “I feel… Different. Everyone's blood smells wrong. Tastes wrong. I just throw it up.”

“And mine?” Clarke asked.

“That's what I don't understand. After they took me, yours stayed with me longer than it should have. It was the only reason I was able to keep running,” 14 said. Clarke watched her face, sure she could see a hundred scenarios flicker through 14’s mind and across her eyes like the dappled sunlight dancing along the forest floor. “I need to go to Mount Weather. I think there's a machine there that I might be able to use to get some answers.”

 

“Me too,” Clarke said, sighing as her stomach lurched at the thought of having to go back to the place where she condemned hundreds of innocent people to death; at having to go back to her people – her mother, Bellamy, Raven -- and the questions she was sure they would have for her. “Not about the machine, obviously. But I have to go to Mount Weather soon.”

“For good?”

“I didn’t think so, but after last night, I don’t know anymore. I agreed to be the Ambassador for Skaikru so I was supposed to go back to my mom and Kane to talk to them about having us join the coalition,” Clarke said, remembering the tense ceremony. “Were you able to find out anything more about what Ice Nation wanted at Mount Weather?”

“Not really, no. At least nothing that makes sense yet. But I would like to speak to The Commander at some point.”

“Of course. I’m sure she has questions for you, too,” Clarke said, feeling her voice start to tremble at the thought of Lexa. She looked down, absently worrying one of the loose pieces of thread from her sutures with her thumb, remembering how warm and careful Lexa’s hands had been as she had tugged the sides of her skin together and how cold she had felt in her core the moment the door clicked shut behind her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Clarke met 14’s eyes and felt her own water. From the moment they had met, 14 had been incomprehensibly kind and gentle, despite the violence and cruelty of her upbringing. She had never asked anything of Clarke. And here she was again, offering her support and comfort where Clarke felt she deserved none of it. She knew she had a lot more explaining to do, but  before she could answer, there was a knock at the door.

“Heda requests both of you in the throne room in one hour,” a gruff voice boomed loudly from the hallway.

14 quirked an eyebrow at her and Clarke took in a deep breath, pushing her emotions away from her tear ducts and stood, walking towards the bathroom to make herself ready.

 

 

“How do you know she isn’t a threat?” Titus’ voice was low and serious.

“Because Clarke said she is not.” Lexa tried to hide her exhaustion, sitting rigidly on the throne, looking down at Clarke and 14 as they stood at the base of the dais, the room empty except for the four of them. Clarke looked as weary as Lexa felt, her endless afternoon meetings where she had to sit straight and attentive had sapped her of the extra energy sparring had given her. 14, on the other hand, stood tall and alert. She was dressed in a simple tunic and slim pants, her bare arms clasped in front of her, the bruises from the night before already faded. She’d taken shears to her hair, the longest top pieces barely brushing her jawline and she’d shorn the sides down close to her scalp. Lexa realized she was studying her, or possibly it was just an overcorrection in trying not to look at Clarke.

She sniffed, worried that her nose might start bleeding again and was sure she saw 14’s nostrils flare slightly in response.

“And you would trust Wanheda with your life?”

Titus’ job was to question her decisions, not in a way that was disrespectful, but in a way that forced her to examine all sides of an issue. However, sometimes even his duty was wearisome.

She hadn’t wanted to summon Clarke and 14, but Titus had insisted, the safety his Commander was his primary concern. And now as she sat looking down at Clarke, she was suddenly not sure of how to answer that question because a lot can change in a person’s heart and mind in the time it takes for the moon to sink and the sun to rise. But Clarke’s eyes didn’t show the hatred she had seen there before; if anything, she just looked tired. And sad. So sad it would make Lexa’s heart ache if she let it.

“Yes.” The finality of her tone instructed Titus to move on in his line of questions. She looked at  Clarke and could swear she saw a flicker of warmth pass across her face, but maybe she was imagining what she wanted to see. 14 was a much harder read, her features impassive, a warrior who could withstand unrelenting torture was unfazed by verbal inquisition.

“How will we explain her presence in Polis? And so near to you, Heda? She is more... conspicuous than Clarke.”

Lexa thought for a moment, watching as 14 turned to look at Clarke, drawing her hand unconsciously through her hair, the long pieces pulled up and away from the close cropped sides revealing tattoos above her ear. As Lexa's dazed mind processed the symbols, suddenly recognizing the largest one, Titus was already flying down the stairs towards her, his robes billowing behind him.

“How did you come to be in possession of our most sacred symbol?!” Titus shouted at 14, grabbing her roughly around the collar and forcing her backwards into one of the columns around the perimeter of the room as Clarke and Lexa raced to join him.

Without a word, 14 broke Titus’ grip around her, pinning his arm and throwing him to the ground before stepping quickly away, placing herself between Titus and Clarke, her eyes burning with fight as they found Lexa’s again. Lexa tried to hide her shock; Titus was not only her advisor but he was the last line of defense against an attack on a Commander, highly skilled in close combat and he had been dispatched in less than a second. But Lexa couldn’t find it in herself to be worried. If anything, she felt Titus deserved this embarrassment for his unprovoked rudeness.

Lexa shook her head imperceptibly and watched 14’s posture visibly relax with the assurance there would be no more violence, her hand briefly moving to her ribs in discomfort before  clasping them again in front of her.

“You have the answer to your first question, Titus.”

“Heda?” Titus asked, getting to his feet and straightening his robes.

“14 will serve as personal guard to Clarke.” Lexa looked at Clarke for confirmation that the solution she presented was acceptable and the slight smile playing at the corner of Clarke’s mouth told Lexa that they were both in agreement regarding Titus’ behavior.

“And the sacred symbol?”

“You don’t have to answer him,” Clarke murmured to 14. Lexa felt like she should be angry, like she should feel affronted by Clarke claiming authority in her own throne room, but she didn’t feel angry. She felt… peaceful. She knew this would give Titus fuel for another anti-Clarke lecture later, but right now, she felt soothed by Clarke’s voice, as tired as they both obviously were.

And she was right: Lexa wouldn't compel 14 to answer beyond what she felt comfortable in revealing. She, admittedly, wasn't as fervent a follower of their religion as Titus, but she remembered being awestruck when he'd taken her on her ascension day to the dank basement room full of artifacts of their faith. She recalled touching the smooth metal shell of the large capsule with POLIS lettered on the side, the mural of The First Commander and the sacred symbol – an outline of two circles side by side, so close that their edges overlapped -- large and brilliant above her on the wall, matching the tattoo she had just received on the back of her neck after taking the Flame.

Lexa didn't actually remember taking the Flame, but she can still recall the moment she felt the Commanders sharing her mind with her and the way she felt her faith shift into something more tangible as she became part of her people's history. She was curious about the source of their shared marking, but in a way she couldn’t quite explain, it was something between _them_ that Titus could never understand, so she would respect 14’s privacy for now.

“Your Fleimkepa,” 14 began, her fingertips gently touching the tattoo above her ear, “was right in recognizing the symbol.”

Her grey eyes were locked on Lexa as she spoke. It wasn’t confrontational, exactly, but it made Lexa feel uneasy and curious at the same time, the odd tickling passing across her mind’s eye like a breeze through the forest; a gust of wind rustling the leaves before becoming completely still again, her focus pulled back into the present. Just within the edges of her sight, Lexa saw Titus stiffen. Neither she nor Titus had used his official title around Clarke so it was likely that 14’s people had a deeper knowledge of Polis than expected.

“But for us, it isn’t a symbol of faith but more like a… brand… that one would wear or place on livestock. I think that is the more appropriate analogy in my case, anyway,” 14 said.

“So you are property?” Lexa asked, surprised by the revelation. “Will your masters come looking for you?” She let her attention fall on Clarke for a moment, her face showing that she at least knew some of what 14 was revealing. She looked unwell, her pale skin almost translucent and her nearly mute presence this afternoon was an obvious indicator that something wasn’t right. Lexa would end the meeting soon so Clarke could rest.

“No, not anymore, I don’t think. I expect they’ve learned trying to keep me isn’t in their best interests,” 14 said, a small, wry smile spread slowly across her lips. It was eerily beautiful and the undercurrent of her words was soaked with blood.

“This still doesn’t answer--” Titus said.

“I am satisfied for now, Titus,” Lexa cut him off, dismissing him with a small flick of her wrist. He paused, nodding curtly and casting a withering glance at at Clarke and 14 before walking towards the door, closing it loudly behind him.

Lexa stepped towards Clarke, noticing that as she moved forward, 14 moved away. Not from her, but from Clarke. There was an unmistakable protectiveness in her body language around Clarke and Lexa recognized it even as she had to contain her own desire to reach out towards Clarke, to put her hand on her, to feel that she was okay and alive. She settled for simply being in closer proximity than their official positions dictated, her heart fluttering against her ribs when Clarke didn’t step away, instead looking back at her with the same confused hurt as the night before.

“Are you sure I can’t send for one of my healers?” Lexa asked.

Clarke swallowed, blinking away the extra moisture in her eyes. “No. I’m fine. I just need to lie down. I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Lexa gave one quick nod and watched Clarke and 14 walk out slowly out of the room.

 

 

She couldn’t sleep. Despite not getting rest the night before and exhausting her mind and body during the day, she didn’t feel tired. No, she felt tired. She felt drained of all energy and yet her mind wouldn’t quiet enough for her to fall asleep. She sat in her room, a half-empty glass clutched in her hand. It was still early, the golden light of sunset having only just melted into the dusky blues of twilight, the moon still on its ascent through the dark heavens. But she knew sleep would not come anytime soon. Not tonight. Not most nights. But especially not tonight.

Lexa could divide her life into two halves: the half where she drifted into dreams moments after her head touched her pillow, and the half after she woke to see Costia’s severed head on the pillow next to her, lifeless eyes staring at her as she opened hers that morning. Every night since then has held no guarantee of sleep. The nauseating despair she felt in the months following Costia’s death had finally dissipated into more mundane concerns keeping her awake. But it seemed that in pushing Clarke away from her heart, the creeping anguish returned, ensuring she would not rest tonight.

Many months ago, before Skaikru had crashed down into her world, she had been on campaign with her army, marching for weeks between villages, her warriors spending the nights that didn’t end in bloodshed in local taverns. She and Gustus, her trusted friend and protector, had been watching the soldiers drink and flirt with the village locals, becoming rowdy and boisterous as the night wore on. Lexa remembered allowing her eyes to covertly follow one of the young women of the village as she passed by their table, feeling her pulse quicken as warm brown eyes had met hers, friendly and inviting, but Lexa hadn’t been as inconspicuous as she’d thought when Gustus spoke.

“You are too many nights alone, Heda,” Gustus said, his voice gently teasing but the sparkle in his eyes shone with a slight sadness, knowing Lexa’s heart was still raw and damaged, despite his Commander’s steely persona. “And one night doesn’t have to mean forever.”

“I am forever for my people, Gustus,” she said, taking another large swallow from her mug. _To be Commander is to be alone_. Titus’ voice spoke softly in her mind, repeating the phrase he’d often used throughout her novitiate training. It had been the only thing he’d said to her as she had sobbed in her room, his hand firm and reassuring on her shoulder and Costia’s head still resting on her pillow, staining it with death. The “alone” he spoke of during her training and the “alone” she had become that morning were all-encompassing to her being. Everything would begin and end with her.

“Sha, Heda, but I have served several Commanders before you. It is a great responsibility and the ecstasy of bloodshed doesn’t relieve all tensions. Even Titus knows this. Do you not ever want…?”

Lexa sighed, remembering Costia; remembering her curly hair streaming behind her, bouncing like leaves on a river of wind as they’d run through the forest as youths and remembering it spread out across her pillow, her eyes heavy and full of adoration the first night they’d spent together in Lexa’s new bed as Heda after her ascension. She could remember the excitement she had felt the next morning when she woke and the feeling in her fingertips as she’d traced the beautiful scar along Costia’s cheek until those soft hazel eyes had opened, filling the room in early morning with warmth.

She thought about what Gustus had said, and while the girl who had walked past their table was very pretty and Lexa had briefly allowed her imagination to taste the softness of her lips, her neck, to feel the warm skin under her palms, she was jerked immediately back into the loud tavern, musky with the scent of _souda_ and sweat, her stomach burning with guilt. Guilt and duty were intertwined and she thought that in truth, she would never want or allow herself to want ever again. It was both a relief and a burden.

“What I want is for these skirmishes to end so that we can all go home,” she said, a bitter edge to her voice as she stood from the table, downing the last of her strong drink and walking towards the door. She had taken one last glance around the room, seeing Gustus move from their table to talk to the busty bartender he’d been casually eyeing all night. Her eyes then found  the pretty girl from before and she watched as the girl’s expression turned from excited flirtation  to slight shock, as if she’d been slapped, when her eyes met the Commander’s cool, disinterested gaze.

 

Kissing Clarke in her tent had been a mistake. It had allowed hope to spark within her heart – dangerous for both of them – and that hope had been like a flickering flame, all but extinguished until the gentle breath from Clarke’s parted lips – the soft conversation over days in Polis -- had brought it back to life, coaxing that little spark into a roaring blaze inside Lexa’s chest. The grey-eyed girl’s arrival was a sobering reminder that she and Clarke were not equals. Clarke was free to love and free to give herself to whomever she wanted and 14 was who Clarke wanted.

Lexa brought the glass to her lips and tried to focus her mind on the burning liquid as it slid down her throat and into her belly, to feel how her insides felt like fire for a few seconds after. It was a conscious effort at distraction, she knew, keeping her eyes trained on the shadows of curtains and candles dancing across the floor of her darkened room. It wasn’t a strong enough distraction, though. Untenable, anyway. She couldn’t remember the last time she drank to excess and she couldn’t keep doing it night after night to erase each day. Perhaps Gustus was right, Lexa thought. Perhaps she could allow herself to want. At least for a night. At least to try and find some peace among the smoldering ashes of her core.

Before she could second guess herself, she stood, trading her empty glass for the entire bottle of burning reddish brown liquid. The hallway was empty as it always was at night. When she did sleep, the slightest noise – the shuffling of booted feet, the soft clank of a sword against stone or the groaning of leather armor – would wake her and so she ordered her guards to patrol the hallways further away, closer to the stairwell and elevator doors.

She kept her eyes forward as she moved closer to Clarke’s room, the path beyond it would lead her down the tower, down to her city and hopefully down the body of a beautiful distraction. When she was no more than a few paces away, the click of a door lock pulled her from her buzzed haze and she nearly walked into 14.

All semblance of her previous plan evaporated like steam from water thrown onto a fire as she looked into the peculiar eyes of the assassin in front of her.

“Good evening, Commander,” 14 said, inclining her head slightly, her eyes jumping quickly down to the bottle in Lexa’s hand and then to her reddened cheeks before returning Lexa’s gaze.

Lexa wondered where 14 was going at such a late hour, and without Clarke.

“Is everything alright? Does Clarke need anything?” Keeping her voice controlled took more effort than normal, but she was fairly certain that she hadn’t seemed overly eager at the mention of Clarke. Then her mind betrayed her and allowed a flash of what might be beyond the closed door – Clarke sated and asleep in bed, the sheets twisted around her limbs, sweat drying on her flushed skin as she breathed steadily into dreams, the last twitches of ecstasy melting into the night. She swallowed hard, forcing her attention back to the hallway.

“Clarke is fine, Commander. I couldn’t sleep,” 14 answered. “Seems we have that in common.”

“I guess we do,” Lexa said, studying the reflections of candle light in 14’s grey eyes.

“Is everything alright with you, Commander?” 14 asked, genuine concern in her voice. The strange sensation she often felt around the girl mumbled through her mind, dulled and muddy from the alcohol. Lexa wondered if 14 felt the same unearned familiarity around her as she did.

And just as she’d uncharacteristically drank more than her usual polite sip this evening and just as she’d impulsively decided to finally follow Gustus’ advice and find fleeting comfort in the arms of a stranger, she surprised herself again as she listened to her voice answering 14’s question.

“I don’t know,” Lexa said, handing 14 the bottle. She turned to walk back towards her room, 14 following silently behind her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was better that she didn’t know; her subconscious giving her blissful reprieve from her complicated heart, allowing her to just feel, to not be in pain anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. If anyone has a better description of this story I can add to the total summary, let me know. I'm crap at this. Or, you know, general feedback. Your comments make this all worth it. :)

“So, Commander, how close did Clarke come to killing you?”

Whatever Lexa had been expecting as a start to their conversation, this wasn’t it. After following her into the room, 14 had sunk into an oversized chair and Lexa had walked around the perimeter, re-lighting some of the candles so their meeting would seem less depressing, less clandestine. The room now glowed golden orange; 14’s hair and eyes transformed and otherworldly as they reflected the light.

Lexa studied her from her own seat. She looked younger, more innocent, sitting cross-legged in the worn leather chair. The way 14 normally carried herself, stiff and aloof, cast aside like armor at the end of the day and Lexa wondered if she ever looked as untainted by blood and death as this; if ever the pressure of her own duties didn’t bend and bow her figure under an invisible load. Or if even in sleep, the weight of the world pushed her slightly deeper into the mattress.

“A drop of blood farther than you did.” Lexa touched fingertips to her neck where Clarke’s blade had punctured her skin. “Were you disappointed to find me alive?”

“No,” 14 said, shaking her head slowly. “But I didn’t train Clarke so that she would kill you. I trained her because she needed to feel like she could.”

Lexa watched 14 raise the glass to her lips for the first time, and felt the corner of her mouth quirk up slightly at 14’s failed attempt to hide her discomfort as the liquid burned down her throat followed by a small, sharp exhale.

“Wanheda is no stranger to death, to killing,” Lexa said, though knowing how Clarke detested her title, even the word felt uncomfortable and bitter on her tongue.

“But she’ll never choose it. Not if there's another way,” 14 said. Her second sip came with less of a grimace. “You made her believe there could be another way.”

Lexa was glad for the numbness from the drink. She felt the pain of those words, but like the dulled edges of the weapons from this morning, it wasn’t enough to break the skin. She could feel the soreness settling in, the bruises darkening the flesh across her thighs, her back. The ache made it easier to keep her voice steady. “You don’t think she could have changed? Truly wanted to kill me?”

“She might have believed her own lie,” 14 shrugged. “But we are what we are, Commander. The lies we tell ourselves don’t change us. They're just another layer to peel away by the ones we let under our skin.“ Her attention wandered around the room, eyes resting briefly on the shelves overflowing with books.

_Lexa was back on the hillside, her army surrounding the Skaikru camp, torches speckled against the night like fireflies and Clarke was standing in front of her, blue eyes full of tears, begging for the life of the brown haired boy called Finn awaiting his death, their vengeance. We are what we are. She had said those exact same words to Clarke after Clarke had asked her for mercy, asked her to show the Sky People that they were not “savages.” The word had stung unexpectedly. She was Heda, Commander of The Blood, Uniter of the 12 Clans. Their savagery is what kept them alive. And yet hearing it on Clarke's lips like an abomination made it feel like a slap across her cheek. It was also the moment Lexa remembered feeling the first stirrings in her heart for the girl with the golden hair. Clarke had plunged her hidden blade deep into the heart of the boy, robbing Lexa and her people of their retribution for the lives he had taken. She remembered feeling her desire morph into shame and guilt._

“And what are you?” Lexa’s words came out with more hostility than she had intended, but if 14 picked up on her tone, she didn’t show it. Perhaps the drink had rounded her edges. Perhaps 14 was just as practiced at maintaining her exterior calm as she was and Lexa still needed to be alert around her. Perhaps she would ignore all of that and take another sip of her drink.

“I was whatever they asked me to be,” 14 said. She leaned forward to refill their glasses. Lexa knew the effects of combat on her soldier’s bodies, and even she had an impressive collection of scars across her skin from countless fights. Apart from the slight discomfort 14 displayed in the throne room after tossing a man larger than herself to the ground, she didn’t seem to be in any pain.

14’s eyes followed Lexa’s to her own body. She set her glass down, shifting in her seat and pulling up her shirt to reveal the skin just below her right ribs. What Lexa saw almost made her choke, the strong liquor stinging her throat and she coughed once before leaning in for a closer look.

The deep, seeping cuts from the night before -- cuts that if they killed a man twice her size wouldn’t have been surprising -- were faded from bright, hot red and now nearly matched the soft, tanned skin surrounding the stitches. These were the wounds of someone who had healed for more than a week and had been lucky to stave off infection. 14 sat back in her seat, her glass in one hand and pulling her shirt down with the other.

“How?” Lexa asked, both imagining how such ability would benefit her soldiers and also the cold, raw fear of facing an army of people like 14.

“There are tiny pieces of technology in every part of me, mostly in my blood,” 14 said, pinching her fingers together so that barely a strand of hair could pass between them. “They make bleeding stop quickly, my muscle and skin and bone grow together faster. In the time it would take a normal person to recover from a broken hand, I could have knocked on the gates of death a dozen times and be back to the living before they had opened. What you saw last night was, I guess for lack of a better term… recharging them?”

“Jus drein, jus daun.” Lexa mumbled, mostly to herself, but she didn’t miss the bitter smile before it faded from 14’s lips. “How is it that our people share a common philosophy?”

“That part, I don’t know. But I can tell you what I do know about my beginnings,” 14 said, shifting her weight and leaning on the arm of the chair. Lexa felt herself mirroring 14’s movements, also adjusting so that she was more comfortable and settled, her muscles moving less stiffly than she remembered earlier in the day. Another positive for her half-empty cup. “The ancestors of your people were the ones who survived when the bombs dropped and destroyed the world. They lived because some of them had certain traits -- like the way that your eyes are green or your hair is brown -- that made them immune to the radiation and they passed those traits down to their children who also lived. But for me, my ‘people’ and my ‘ancestors’ are two different groups. My people came from scientists in a large underground city who were working in secret before the bombs and continued working after. My ancestors were the test subjects. Generation after generation raised for experiments and killed when it was time to answer a new set of questions.”

“What kind of tests? To what end?”

“Tests like yours, I imagine.” 14 took a sip from her glass and held it up in front of her, watching the candlelight filter through the swirling amber liquid. ”The kind that hurt. The kind that bleed. The kind that make your chest pound and lungs burn until you don’t think you can breathe anymore and that your heart will either beat out of your chest or stop altogether, but you keep going because they haven’t told you that you can stop yet.” 14 shook her head slightly. “But they weren’t trying to make us stronger, mould us into greatness. Not like you. They wanted to see how strong they had made us. This time.”

14 told the story of her upbringing without emotion, her voice flat and factual. Lexa wondered if any part of her wished she’d had a more “normal” life -- whatever “normal” was in this world, anyway -- or if invincibility was a fair enough trade. She imagined young children, their small fists bloodied and raw from fight, cuts on their faces, purple and swollen. Tiny ribs expanded against tiny lungs, heaving breath, watched by faceless men using their skin and bones as whetstones.

Which would she have chosen if given the option? No Heda before her had survived a decade past their conclave, most just a few short years. But perhaps that was the price of having her spirit carried on to the next Commander. Her mind immortal, her body a gossamer thread of smoke floating towards the heavens upon her imminent death.

“Why did they try to kill you, then?” Lexa asked. “Clarke said you were tortured.”

Lexa watched a dozen answers pass behind 14’s eyes, her lips opening and closing around letters she couldn't breathe into words. She was hesitant when she finally spoke. “I thought I knew. I thought I was being punished. An example. But then they killed the rest of us. All of the ones like me and their handlers. So ‘to what end’ -- I don’t know. I don’t know what they were hoping to learn with my generation.”

“Why bother punishing you? Making an example of you if they were just going to kill everyone else?”

“I have some ideas, but nothing really solid, yet. I hope to find more answers at Mount Weather.”

“What kinds of ideas?” Lexa was interested now, choosing to ignore the implicit _with Clarke_ at the mention of Mount Weather and instead concentrating on the sensation of curiosity. It was unexpected. By the end of the day, she was usually too tired to even _want_ to engage in conversation with anyone. The hours spent in meetings were an exhaustive dance of ferreting out the truth, the angle of attack, the shadowed agenda, from whoever gained audience with Heda. And on nights that didn’t end with her barely able to even undress herself before bed, she would read quietly from one of the dozens of books on her shelves, re-reading familiar passages when she felt like company, spending time with her favorite characters.

“Can we talk about something else?” 14 asked. She looked pained, her eyebrows knitting together like she was uncertain of Lexa’s answer, like she wasn’t used to asking for things.

“Of course.”

They spoke for a long while. The conversation meandered naturally through their lives, the liquid in their bellies slowly dissolving the paper walls around their practiced demeanors. Thoughtful silences were filled with the sound of melted wax hissing as they slid past the candle flames, dripping and drying in long strands. The quietness contrasted with sudden barks of laughter as only people who have swum in destruction can find humor in death.

It wasn’t the same, of course; there was no way 14 could really understand her position the way Clarke did. She was alone, the last of her kind. But Lexa found relief in the way her blood didn’t quicken, didn’t threaten to flow out of her pores with each pulsing beat and towards the only other person she had felt that she could speak with unguarded, unburdened by their positions. 14 didn’t want anything from her. She had no agenda. The secrets she guarded weren’t to manipulate their conversation so for tonight, it was enough to sit and talk as equals.

“Can I ask you something, Commander?”

Lexa nodded, taking a large swallow from her cup, draining it. She leaned forward and set it on the table between them. Tonight was a night for honesty.

“Where were you going, before?”

Lexa kept her eyes on the empty glass in front of her, her vision becoming unfocused as she let her mind’s eye trace over the curves and shadows of the girl she never met in the tavern she never visited. She was quiet for a long time, lost in the delusion that she could have pretended to be anyone else; pretended to let go, to yield under a stranger’s lips, fingers, teeth, and breath. Pretended that her body would have obeyed her mind’s deception.

She was quiet for so long that by the time she looked up, 14’s attention had wandered again back towards the bookshelves along the walls. For a moment, she felt remorse at her rudeness, at not answering 14’s question, and relief at not being pressed for an answer.

“You may borrow whatever you wish.”

Lexa was vaguely aware of 14 rising and moving towards the bookshelves. She could hear books being pulled and replaced, pages turning and she was just beginning to drift away, back into her own thoughts when 14 slid a piece of paper across the table in front of her.

“Who is this?” 14 asked.

Lexa lowered her gaze, knowing who she was going to see even before her eyes were able to focus on the drawing: a girl’s face, her wild hair spreading, overflowing the edges of the paper, eyes bright and mischievous, a faint smile playing at the edges of her lips and a long, beautiful scar extending like a falling tear down one cheek.

It was like the entire world had come to a standstill, the sudden feeling of being stopped mid-motion carried enough momentum to pull a single word from Lexa’s lips.

“Costia.”

“Who is she?”

“She was mine,” Lexa answered, unable to tear her eyes from the paper. There was a time when she would stare at that picture for hours, imagining her fingers touching every part of Costia’s face, her body, the way she sounded when she laughed and when she murmured in her sleep. Now Lexa couldn’t remember when she had hidden away the drawing in a book, carefully interred between the pages.

“What happened to her?”

“She was taken from me by Ice Nation. They sent me her head.”

“Why?” 14’s asked, a hint of urgency hiding in her tone.

“Because I was hers. They thought she knew my secrets.” Lexa felt a hot tear roll slowly down her cheek, felt it splatter onto her bare wrist.

“I’m sorry, Commander.” Lexa finally looked up from the paper and into 14’s eyes. They were so soft, and earnest, it made Lexa feel like every emotion she had ever pushed down and away was coming to the surface again. It was hard to breathe. It was too much to feel. She inhaled one shaky breath after another until she no longer felt like her body would reject the air, forcing it out into sobs.

“Can I ask you something?” Lexa’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth, uncoordinated and undulating like a slug. Her eyes were heavy as she reached out towards her glass, tipping it back and feeling the few drops that had collected in the bottom slide limply into her mouth.

“You’ve asked me many things tonight, Commander.” Lexa looked up into 14’s face and was glad to see a small smile playing across her lips as she took the glass from Lexa’s hand and walked across the room towards a pitcher resting on a table.

“Why were you watching me this morning at The Pits?”

“I wanted to see if you really were as good as they said.” 14 filled the glass with water and drained it herself before filling it again and walking back towards the couch.

“And was I?”

“Better. But you have a habit of dropping your lead guard before you counter.” She placed the glass of water on the table, next to Lexa’s empty hand. “Goodnight, Lexa.”

Lexa felt 14’s hand on her shoulder. She wasn’t used to people touching her outside of her official duties. It felt solid, secure, like being under a heavy blanket, and she felt herself raising her own hand to rest it on top of 14’s in silent thanks, but time under _souda_ moved differently, and she only felt the warm skin of her own shoulder beneath her palm, the room silent and empty.

 

Clarke raked her fingers through the damp, coarse sand. It made her skin itch and she wanted to pry the grit from beneath her fingernails, but she couldn’t stop digging, couldn’t stop until she felt the stiff rebound of cold flesh. Her movements became more frantic; sand flying out from the pit in the ground until she could clearly see the lifeless body below. Olive skin, now pale and sallow, peeked out from a dirty shroud. The intense green of her eyes had clouded over, vacant, wide and staring at nothing, grains of sand stuck to her eyelashes like glitter. Clarke struggled to pull the body out of the pit and into her arms. It was heavy, so heavy, limbs dangling and threatening to throw off her balance completely as she trudged through the uneven earth towards the cave in the distance.

Once inside, the sun was barely a pinprick of gold at the mouth of the cave, like a flashlight in the distance, its power draining quickly. She crouched next to the body, running her palms across the skin, trying to press warmth and life back into the organs and bones, but as she moved her hands, the skin beneath tore open like thin paper, muscle and sinew shining wetly in the dim, fading light.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Clarke kept chanting, kept trying to pull the pieces of skin back together and just tearing it more. She moved her hand to the sternum and felt the strong thump of a heart, but the body’s eyes remained unblinking, unseeing, pupils fixed on the abyss. Sobs racked Clarke’s body and tears dripped onto the torn flesh, rolling off like rain.

She was shouting now, the cave pitch black and only able to feel the clammy, icy skin under her fingers, her words reverberating around her. It was so loud she couldn’t tell which apology was her own and which was an echo, her voice growing hoarser, her body more bent, curling in on itself until she was lying on her side, the smooth stone beneath turned soft and pliant.

“Shhhhhhh.”

Warm breath spread against the side of her neck, humid and heavy, sweet with the scent of alcohol. It wrapped around her, pushing away the cold, damp air from her dreams. She felt a hot palm press against her back and she opened her eyes, still whispering her pleas for forgiveness. Clarke didn’t know if she was awake or still dreaming. There was no light anywhere. Her vision looked the same whether her eyes were opened or closed, but the hand on her back was real. It had to be. She felt the surface sink behind her, the hand sliding along her ribs, coming to rest between her breasts, against her beating heart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry.” Clarke continued to murmur, not sure if she was speaking aloud in Polis or inside the dark cave of her dreams; her words barely able to release themselves from her lips as she sniffled and tasted saltwater, heard her tears absorb into the empty shroud beneath her face.

“Shhhhhhh.”

She drifted. The slow, even press of the body behind her like a heavy heartbeat, every angle of hers fitting into the angles behind her. Back to front. Hips to hips. The arm around her, hand in hers, pulled, tightening gently, drawing her closer. Clarke shifted her own weight, rocking backwards, slowly, supple flesh absorbing her in contrast to the cool stone beneath. She was sure she heard the tiniest whimper hidden in the cloud of the next breath against her neck.

“Please. I’m sorry. Please. Please.” Her cries for forgiveness, now a whisper, pleading in selfishness. The next roll of her hips started behind her, she was sure, pushing her forward like a wave, and she began pulling the hand at her breast down her chest and over her stomach, down, down until she gasped, her own hand trembling against the backs of sure fingers.

Even if she'd wanted to -- been able to -- see in the total blackness, it didn't matter. It didn't matter whose lips were brushing the shell of her ear, whose hips were canting her own forward. It was better that she didn’t know; her subconscious giving her blissful reprieve from her complicated heart, allowing her to just feel, to not be in pain anymore. Each thrust of fingers deep, stretching, then emptiness, jolts of electricity as they traveled up and over the straining bundle of nerves before beginning their slide back down, back in. It was so slow. Millimeters passing in minutes, every sensation magnified in the jealous dark.

Clarke’s breathing became more labored, hitched in her chest as she held her breath for long stretches, concentrating on the feeling building between her legs. It rippled outward, like liquid, every inch of pain and anguish like a sponge, absorbing, morphing into the singular goal of release. The breath along her neck remained steady, the fingers at her core responding to her own hand’s pressure.

“Please.” She begged into the darkness, to the heartbeat at her back, to the fingertips soaked and sliding through her. She wanted to reach behind her, to touch the warm skin pressed against hers, to thread her fingers through soft hair but her arm wouldn’t obey; frozen, paralyzed, it stayed between her legs. All she could do was rock her hips harder, pulling ever tighter against the quickening fingers. Her eyes were wet, clamped shut as she began to strain, curl her body inward, trembling, everything around her stopping, silent, except for the hot, even breath against her neck, sending shivers across her cool skin.

“Clarke.”

The sound came from all around her, a whisper seeping from the stone like water, telling her to let go, to surrender in this moment where no one could see, where no one knew the absolution she needed to feel.  And it was enough. Clarke shuddered against her own pain, everything replaced with unbearable heat, pleasure, so strong she could feel it in her teeth, light exploding behind her eyelids where there was none shining on her, her mouth open, throat screaming silence into the void.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa could feel her eyes pricking with tears. She looked upwards into the brightening sky, blinking away the wetness. When she lowered her gaze, she let it fall on the knife and watched as her own hand reached forward and shakily wrapped fingers around the hilt. She pressed the tip against the skin just below 14’s collar bone. “What would you do if you were me?” Lexa asked and expected some half-truth in answer, some way of spinning the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So today is my bday and I took the day off (who wants to work on their bday if they don't have to?!) and made myself sit down and finish this chapter.
> 
> It's a long one and sets up some pretty important stuff. Hopefully you guys like it.

A single shaft of morning sun cut through a small gap in the room’s curtains creating a line of bright light across Clarke’s face. Her eyes burned when she tried to open them, the painful tingling extending behind her eyeballs and into her temples like broken glass. She felt disoriented, squinting into the daylight, her only memories of last night were of total darkness… and touch. She rolled over quickly, half expecting to see someone in the bed with her and in the second it took her to move, she had a moment of hope for who she might find. She felt her skin flush for a moment, feeling foolish.

But it was only a blanket behind her, bunched up and pressed against her back.

Clarke wondered if any of it had been real. The lingering slickness between her legs told her _something_ had happened, but whether it had all been a dream or some combination of reality, she had no idea.

 

“Hey.” Clarke’s voice was still gritty from sleep as she sat on the small table in front of the sofa. Her throat felt raw and tight. 14 was turned away from her, head buried in between the seat and the back cushions; her shoes and pants in an untidy pile on the floor. She didn’t move. “Hey.” Clarke used the ball of her foot to nudge 14’s bare thigh peeking out from the blanket. The moment Clarke felt 14’s skin give slightly at the pressure, she felt a hand lock around her ankle as 14 twisted to face her. She immediately released Clarke and used her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Hey,” 14 groaned, her expression morphing from sleepy discomfort to actual pain.

Clarke caught a whiff of stale alcohol and felt her heart thump. She searched 14’s face for any kind of sign that the latter part of her dream hadn’t been just a dream, but 14’s expression betrayed nothing.

“You okay?” Clarke asked. “Rough night?”

“Night was fine. Rough morning.” 14 reached for a cup of water on the table and downed it in one breath. “After you fell asleep, I left to go for a walk and ran into the Commander. She invited me back to her room for a drink.” Clarke found the only way she could prevent herself from asking a thousand questions was to keep her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “You were having a nightmare when I came back. You okay?”

Maybe it had all been a dream? A _really_ vivid dream? Or 14 had been too drunk to remember climbing into bed with her?

“Yeah. It was just a dream.” She could chase hypotheticals in her mind all day so if she wasn’t going to flat-out ask 14, then she should just move on. “I’m going to tell Lexa I want to leave for Mount Weather tomorrow. Is that okay with you?” 

“Sure. Of course. Did you want to do something today? Or do you want to rest more?” 14 asked and Clarke could hear the edge in her voice, the guilt for the blood she had taken.

“I was thinking we could go to The Pits to train. I’m feeling a little... pent up.” Clarke’s eyes raked over 14’s face. Still nothing.

“You sure you’re up to it?” 14 asked, pointing her chin at Clarke’s bandaged arm, and then winced, the small head motion enough to jostle her hangover.

“Are you sure _you_ are?” Clarke raised an eyebrow. Maybe it was better that it had been a dream. There was an ease to their dynamic that was comforting and even when they’d slept together, it had just felt like an extension of that friendship. But they would still probably need to have a talk about it. Eventually.

 

“Get up.”

Clarke watched the clouds inch across the solid blue sky. Her mouth tasted bitter; a mixture of dust and sweat. Her saliva felt thick, almost sticky with exertion. She’d also bitten the inside of her cheek when she fell and poked the cut with her tongue, but didn’t taste any blood. Her breathing was ragged, the wind knocked out of her as she’d slammed into the ground backwards. 

She and 14 had been training for almost an hour and Clarke was surprised by how well she was able to hold off 14’s attacks. They had started out with a few warm up drills, just like back in the bunker, and then moved into more free-form sparring. Some of the Grounders would stop to watch between their own rounds. 14’s style was very different from theirs: there were no big swings of battle axes or clubs or armor or spears. She fought -- and taught Clarke to fight -- with an eye towards being the smaller warrior. Fast. Reactive.

Clarke squinted at the arm extended towards her and sighed heavily before gripping it and being pulled to her feet.

14 was smiling while Clarke dusted off the back of her pants.

“Don’t look so smug. You’ve been doing this your whole life. Of course you’re better than me,” Clarke huffed, still trying to catch her breath.

“I’m not being smug,” 14 said. “Besides, there are plenty of things you’re better at than me.”

“Name one.”

14 brought her finger to her chin and rolled her eyes up to the sky, making an exaggerated effort at pretending to think and Clarke decided to take one of the few opportunities where 14 at least appeared to be distracted.

Exactly as she’d been taught, Clarke leaned forward and quickly slid her arm under 14’s, gripping her tricep, pulling, and at the same moment, moving her leg behind 14’s ankle. She felt her tense, realizing what was happening, but it was too late as Clarke pushed her weight forward, toppling them both into the dirt. The moment she felt her weight hit the ground, she scrambled, throwing her leg over 14’s hips, straddling her in the process.

“Taking me down when I’m not ready,” 14 said, laughing and coughing around the dust they’d kicked up.

“You’re always ready,” Clarke teased back. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Clarke climbed off of 14 and they both started to get to their feet.

“I wouldn’t dream of--” 14 began, but as Clarke stood, she felt her vision going black around the edges and stumbled backwards into steady arms. 

“Clarke--”

Her lips were nearly at Clarke’s ear when she spoke and Clarke was instantly back in the dark cave of her dreams, the stone walls giving her permission, begging her to let go. If losing her balance before felt like all of the blood leaving her head, then right now felt like all of it had come rushing back up, making her feel dizzy in a completely different way. She felt her knees wobble at the rush and told herself it was because she was tired; she hadn’t slept well the night before. 

“What are you doing here? Have you been here the whole time?” Clarke interrupted Lexa, who was still holding onto her arm and leading her towards an empty bench at the edge of the sparring area. Lexa was breathing heavily, her hairline damp with sweat. 

“Are you okay?” 14 asked as she hurried to follow them. Lexa made sure Clarke was seated before moving slightly further away. Of all the things for Clarke to notice in this moment it was that and she felt a brief, but painful, twinge in her gut.

“Yeah. Fine. Just stood up too fast.” 

“Sure?” 14 asked, kneeling in front of her.

“Definitely.” Clarke nodded. She could see that Lexa was turned away from them, studying her warriors, her normally steadfast stance now shifted back and forth between her feet. She looked uncomfortable and Clarke wondered if it was the hangover, or something more. “You should go fight someone your own size, though. I’ll rest here for a bit. Maybe learn through observation today.”

“We should go back--” 14 began. 

“No. It’s fine, really,” Clarke assured her. “I have some things I want to talk about with Lexa.” At the mention of her name, Lexa turned to face them. “If you have time?” Clarke added.

“Of course, Clarke.” Lexa’s tone was unreadable, but Clarke knew that if she wanted the truth, it was always in Lexa’s eyes and right now they were kind, if a little tired. She sat on the bench next to  Clarke and they both watched 14 trot away to pick fights with warriors twice her size. “I ran here with the Natblidas.”

“What?” Clarke turned to face her, trying not to let her eyes follow a bead of sweat as it slid down Lexa’s throat, veering from its straight path when it rolled over her visibly beating pulsepoint.

“You asked if I’d been here the whole time you were training. I hadn’t,” Lexa explained. “I ran here with the Natblidas, but I didn’t continue on the path to their training area.”

“I’m just surprised you’re here at all,” Clarke shrugged and realized her words had come out harshly when she saw Lexa wince imperceptibly before she turned and focused on her soldiers.

“You’re here. 14 is here.” Lexa kept her eyes forward, clenching and unclenching her jaw several times. 

“14 is only here because I made her. She looked pretty rough this morning. I figured you wouldn’t feel well either. Of course you would be here-- I didn’t mean to imply--” Clarke was stammering now. She felt oddly nervous and had to remind herself that last night had been all in her head. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Clarke?” Lexa asked, still watching the ebb and flow of mock battles in front of them.

“I’d like to leave for Mount Weather tomorrow. You said the other clan leaders would be arriving soon and I’d like a few days there to talk with my mom and Kane.” Clarke didn’t expect the small, melancholy smile she received. “Are you upset?”

“No, Clarke.” Lexa shook her head. “I’m glad you’re still committed to becoming the 13th clan. I will see that you have what you need for your trip.”

“Thank you.” Clarke hoped Lexa knew that she meant it.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, their eyes drifting over the scuffles happening across The Pits. Clarke could just make out the silver-grey of 14’s hair between the crowds of soldiers, only ever visible for a split-second before she’d moved into another flurry of attacks.

“Did you come here to train?” Clarke asked, finally breaking the silence.

“It’s good for me to be here; for my soldiers. Sometimes it’s enough for me to just watch. I have a lot of meetings this afternoon.” Lexa sighed. It was controlled, small, like she couldn’t allow too much of her humanity to breathe through the cracks of her position. Clarke nodded and absently began fiddling with the piece of cloth she’d used to bandage her arm during training. It was coming unravelled so she started to pull it off, preparing to re-wrap it.

“Can I see?” Lexa asked, moving her hand towards Clarke’s arm, but withdrawing it almost immediately.

Clarke couldn’t place exactly when Lexa had become hesitant about touching her. Was it after their kiss? After Mt. Weather? Was it sometime since she’d been brought to Polis? Had something changed within her that made her appear fragile like thin glass or was Lexa worried that whatever had damaged Clarke irreparably was contagious, infectious; something that the Commander must avoid at all costs?

She offered her unbandaged arm to Lexa; her eyes dropping to the black thread pulling her skin closed around a thin red line. It wasn’t the skillful, practiced stitch of a surgeon, but it wasn’t the crude, hurried wound closing of the battlefield. The care with which Lexa had passed the needle through her skin was obvious in the small, orderly arrangement of thread.

“I wish you had let me call one of my healers.” Lexa was still studying her handiwork as she spoke, and when she looked up, her eyes were glassy. “They would have given you a cleaner scar.”

“But isn’t it a better story to say the Commander of the 12 Clans stitched me up?” Clarke smiled, but something in Lexa’s expression -- her responsibilities, her solitude -- made it feel like her throat was closing against letting any more air in or out of her lungs. Clarke swallowed hard in an attempt to push against the sensation. Her next words came out more to herself, but she knew Lexa could hear them. “Besides, a scar just means your body had to heal from something. I think there’s beauty in that.”

They didn’t break eye contact for long moments after. The hatred Clarke had held in her heart when she arrived in Polis was melting -- had been melting -- but she still felt guilt and shame around her reaction to Lexa. And the distance and boundaries Lexa had set out for them meant she shouldn’t ache and care the way she did. She certainly couldn't show it.

Suddenly, there was a loud roar from the crowd gathered around the sparring area, breaking the spell that always seemed to swirl around them when they were alone. One of the warriors came running from the sparring area towards them shouting. 

“Wanheda’s guard--”

“Is she okay?” Clarke jumped to her feet, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

The man’s expression changed from excitement to amusement. “Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He turned to face Lexa. “She won against Arlin, Heda.” 

Clarke watched Lexa’s eyebrows lift, impressed. She rose from her seat and began walking towards the crowd, Clarke hurrying to keep up.

“Who is Arlin?” Clarke asked.

“He’s one of the best close-combat soldiers in the entire coalition,” Lexa answered, taking the distance in great strides. “And I'm the only one here he's ever yielded to.”

As they drew closer, other soldiers took notice of them and began to chant _“Heda!”_

“So what does that mean?” Clarke knew the answer before she had finished speaking and Lexa’s raised eyebrow and smirk confirmed her suspicions.

“It means,” Lexa said, bending down to tighten her boots, “that the crowd won’t let us leave until they’ve seen a show.” She straightened as 14 walked towards them, stopping a short distance away. 

“He was very good.” 14 gestured behind her towards the man who was just now getting to his feet. He was slim, but muscular; not one of the hulking soldiers that served as intimidating guards. Clarke was glad to see a smile across his face, if a little dazed, as he was helped to his feet and clapped on the back by several outstretched hands from the crowd. “But they tell me you're better.” 

14 usually carried herself with quiet confidence, but Clarke noticed that in her raised voice above the din, there was bravado, overt cockiness. It was strange to hear and Clarke hoped she was just playing to the crowd. She caught 14’s eye and smiled at the quick wink she received before 14 turned towards Lexa, grinning. What surprised Clarke more than 14’s behavior was Lexa’s: she was _almost_ smiling back and Clarke could tell that even though she was making a big, serious show of reluctantly getting ready to step into the ring, it was all to cover up her eagerness. Clarke wondered if it was the love of fighting or the love of winning that had her excited.

On impulse, she reached for Lexa’s arm, releasing it the moment her fingers touched the fabric of her shirt. Lexa’s eyes met hers, searching, waiting for whatever Clarke wanted to say, but Clarke hadn’t prepared anything beyond satisfying the need to touch her. _Good luck_ felt wrong. _Be careful_ was inappropriate, maybe even insulting. “She’s fast,” Clarke finally said, for lack of anything better, and Lexa nodded once and turned to walk into the ring.

 

_I’m faster._

They started cautiously, each circling the other as they gradually began stringing together longer combinations, the intensity of their match growing with the volume of the crowd. 14 was like water: constantly moving, morphing, changing her shape around whatever Lexa threw at her. It was frustrating. She was sure the fight looked more evenly matched to the people who were watching -- to Clarke -- but Lexa couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this challenged by an opponent at The Pits. Not even Arlin had been this hard to pin down. Every thrust with her swords met only air, their paths diverted by 14’s staff or the bend of her body.

Anya had always told her that she moved like a leaf on the wind: each gust sending her in a new direction, evading, attacking, quickly advancing before disappearing. In this moment, Lexa imagined they fought like a storm; wind and water dancing in destructive harmony. But she knew if that she wanted to win -- and she needed to win -- she would have to solidify. She needed to become something that could capture water. 

So she began to draw 14 in with her body. She didn’t flit away after an attack, but continued to press forward, taking some strikes against her flesh and relishing in the bruises she could feel blooming below the surface of her skin. A well-timed flick of her wrists sent 14’s staff flying out of her grasp, but her victory was short lived after a clever feint sent her swords to the ground after it.

Weaponless, they both paused, breathing heavily. Lexa looked into 14’s grey eyes and saw a feral excitement that matched her own racing heart. Now the fight would really begin. She let her gaze drift to the side for a moment and saw Clarke had worked her way to the front of the crowd, just outside the boundary of their ring. Lexa wondered if she was hoping 14 would win, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it as 14 began to walk towards her, slowly at first, then charging forward at a run. 

They punched and kicked, blocked and tumbled, each fighting for purchase, for victory. Lexa could feel sweat stinging her eyes and her breath was labored. It felt like she’d hardly drawn in air before she would have to flex against a blow to her midsection. It was in the fury of battle that time slowed, every sense magnified against the onslaught, like her mind could split apart and process the present while looking into the past and future. Conversations from the night before flashed in her mind.

_You drop your lead guard before you counter._

Lexa smiled to herself, remembering that 14 was reacting to her style from studying her the day before. She could use this. On 14’s next attack, she lowered her left arm slightly, inviting another blow that sent stars shooting to the periphery of her vision, the taste of blood washing over her tongue. But instead of trying to strike in return, she trapped 14’s arm and threw her to the ground. She was all instinct now, the adrenaline from the fight and the taste of her own blood sent her hand flying to the knife at her thigh, drawing it in one fluid motion as she pinned 14, the blade now perfectly pressed at 14’s throat. 

The roar from the crowd was deafening. 

She sat on 14 panting, feeling the girl below her breathing heavily, the expansion of her ribs pressing rhythmically into Lexa’s inner thighs as they squeezed around 14’s chest. She let her eyes fall to her opponent’s: gleaming, bright with bloodlust and the thrill of combat.

Lexa licked more blood from her lips, but didn’t move her hand away from 14’s neck.

“Would this kill you?” she asked quietly, adjusting her grip on the knife.

“Would this kill you?” 14 asked in response and Lexa followed 14’s eyes to the space where her arm was trapped against Lexa's thigh, a small blade she hadn’t even seen 14 draw was now pressed against her pants, exactly placed to sever the large blood vessel under the skin. She could feel her pulse beating against the pressure. It had been so quickly executed and well-hidden that Lexa was sure no one in the crowd had noticed. To them, it looked like clear victory for their Heda.

Lexa’s gaze returned to 14’s face, but her expression had changed completely. Instead of a warrior’s bravery, she saw confusion and fear and… something else she was sure she must be imagining in the depths of 14’s wide and dilated eyes. She opened her mouth to speak just as 14 swiveled her head and found Clarke in the crowd. When she turned back, everything was gone but the last traces of her confusion.

Lexa stood and extended her arm to 14 and felt her heart swell when her warriors began cheering them both.

“Fighting Wanheda’s guard was an unnecessary risk, Heda.”

“How? I won. It was good morale for my warriors.” Lexa had left The Pits immediately after the fight, hurrying to meet the Natblidas as they finished their training and then came back to the throne room for an afternoon of meetings in preparation for the upcoming clan summit on her Ascension day. She was exhausted. She was always exhausted lately, it seemed. But whatever Lexa might be feeling, it was Heda’s responsibility to listen to what would likely be another lecture from Titus about what she was doing wrong. These lectures seemed to be increasing in frequency along with the drop in her patience.

“And if you had lost? How would that have looked?”

Lexa knew he was upset with her. The meetings with the other Ambassadors had been tense. Though none of them would outright say it, Lexa could feel the meddling touch of Azgeda’s Queen in their hesitation to welcome Skaikru into the coalition. 

“Then isn’t it good that I won?” Lexa could feel herself getting combative, her blood beginning to sizzle. She wondered if it boiled, if it caught fire, whether the smoke would spiral into the air black like burning pine sap or if her body burned grey and white just like everyone else's.

“What _your_ warriors think of you doesn’t matter, Lexa. Winning against Wanheda’s guard--”

“14.” He could at least use her name. She’d earned that much.

Titus sighed. He looked so much older than Lexa remembered him in her mind. Since the moment she met him as a girl, he’d always had a bald head covered in tattoos, but the lines around his face, the texture of his hands, even the faintly visible greying of his afternoon stubble were all reminders that time moved ever forward, no matter how much she would like to freeze it; to pause the sun just as it touched the horizon and sit atop her tower in silence. Alone. Just for a little while.

“The peace you hold is balanced on the edge of a knife, Lexa. Everything we’ve worked for. Everything you’ve accomplished. I beg you to remember who you are; to remember what you represent. You can’t just do whatever you want--”

“Whatever _I_ want?” Lexa raised her voice, her patience having expired. “When have I ever done what _I_ wanted, Titus? 14 beat Arlin. If I hadn’t fought her, tell me how strong I would look, then. Tell me what I should have done instead.”

“Perhaps today you had no other choice,” Titus said. He adjusted his robes out of habit. “But I still worry that you are trying to push the clans too far, too quickly. Skaikru moving into Mount Weather...”

“You don’t think I hear the whisperings? That I don’t feel Nia’s sharp tongue whittling away at everything I’ve tried to build?” She was shouting now and the moment she heard her own voice, she closed her mouth, the echo of her words gliding between the columns of the large room, burying themselves in the tapestries along the walls. She drew a steadying breath, willing her rage to dissolve into the air around her when she exhaled. “If we do not form an alliance with Skaikru, then we have an enemy within our borders. I will not send wave after wave of my soldiers to die in piles at their doorstep. And if they are not part of the coalition, then I cannot protect them from Nia. There is value in having them as allies.”

“I hope you’re right, Lexa. You stand to lose much more than the coalition if you’re not.”

“Yes, teacher. I know.”

 

The murky indigo of the pre-dawn hours had become a comfort to Clarke in the last week as she found herself awake before the sun had peeked above the horizon. 

“Are you hurt?” Clarke asked 14 as they dressed in the dim candlelight.

“Hurt? No. Why?”

“You seem...off.” It was true. Ever since Clarke had watched 14 get to her feet after surrendering to Lexa, she’d seemed distracted. And she kept looking at Clarke like she was expecting something from her; some answer to a question that Clarke had no idea she’d been asked. “Did Lexa say something to you? After the fight?”

“No. She was very gracious.” 14 rubbed at her ribs. “I guess… I guess I’m just not used to losing.” Clarke didn’t believe her. The bravado in her voice was long gone, replaced with uncertainty and quiet reflection. She was hiding something, of that Clarke was certain, but everything about their short friendship had been built on unwavering trust so Clarke knew she would have to wait until 14 was ready to reveal her truth.

As they left her bedroom and turned towards the hall that would lead them down to the streets below, Clarke paused, her own mind churning and circling around her own uncertainties. 

“Wait.” Clarke said, and the look of understanding in 14’s eyes told her she didn’t need to finish her thought. Without another word, 14 followed her as she turned and walked towards the stairs that would take her to the top of the tower.

 

Lexa’s back was to them as Clarke and 14 climbed out of the tunnel and onto the landing. The morning air was warmer than it had been the past week, warmer than any day since she had taken 14’s hand and followed her into the dark parted roots shielding the path that would lead them down into the bunker.

“Have you been up here every morning?” she asked as Lexa turned slowly to face them.

“Most. Yes.” Her voice was soft, low, but it was surprisingly quiet on top of the tower; the wind that had sent tendrils of Clarke’s hair flying in every direction when she’d poked her head out of the hatch had died down almost as soon as her feet had touched the roof.

“You must be tired,” Clarke said, walking forward. With each step, her heart added another beat until it was thumping a staccato rhythm in her chest. She heard the squeak of 14’s boots against the metal grating behind her as she shifted her weight and Clarke had the strange thought that 14’s keen senses could pick up on the change in her heart rate, on the adrenaline that had flushed into her blood and made her palms damp.

Lexa closed her eyes for a moment, nodding once. When she opened them again, they were brightly tinged with yellow from the emerging sun. Her green irises were like new spring leaves. But below her eyes, there were also the dark shadows of exhaustion smudged on Lexa’s tanned skin.

Now that she was close, Clarke could see the jumping shadows along Lexa’s neck as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. She had learned to recognize this tiny tell in Lexa’s expression as “Heda’s frustration”; when she wanted to say something, but wouldn't. Couldn’t. When the mask of Heda and Lexa quivered back and forth.

It reminded her of when she was a little girl on The Ark. Sometimes there would be power fluctuations and at night she would lie in her bed and the dim lights around the room would flicker on and off. In those moments of total darkness, she would swear she could see monsters in the darker shadows. But neither Lexa nor Heda was a monster. If anything, Heda’s mask was in the light and Clarke only wished she could have a few more seconds in the dark to bring Lexa out from the shadows, where she had been banished.

“Was there something you needed, Clarke?” Heda. Succinct. Professional.

Clarke took a deep breath realizing that everything she’d been feeling bottled up since Lexa had left her room that night was suddenly erupting onto the surface like boiling water into steam. And much like when she was a child, Clarke couldn’t help but blurt out the first thought that crossed her mind. “Do you want me to return to Polis?”

For a moment, just a moment, it was darkness as fear and surprise moved across Lexa’s eyes. But it was Heda who answered. “Do you not wish to remain as Ambassador, Clarke?”

“I don’t want to come back here -- to live -- if _this_ ,” she gestured with her hand between them, “is how it is going to be. If you’d prefer I find someone else to act as Ambassador instead of me, please tell me.” Clarke hoped her voice wouldn’t quake, wouldn’t weaken her. “I understand you used me to show the other clans you had Wanheda’s cooperation.” Lexa opened her mouth to speak, but held her tongue as Clarke raised her hand, asking for silence. “And that’s fine. I understand it was necessary. But I’m not going to come back, to live here in Polis, as some trophy. I can find you someone smart and qualified to serve as Ambassador if you would prefer to not see me, but I won’t come back and live here with this constant feeling like anytime I’m in a room, you’re looking for a way out. I have enough of my own shit to deal with.” She closed her eyes for a second, taking in a heavy, deep breath. “You don’t have to answer now. But think about it.”

They stood staring at each other for several long moments. She watched as Lexa opened her mouth, and waited for her to speak, waited for her own eyes to tear themselves away from Lexa’s lips as her tongue darted out for just a moment, licking her lower lip, before pulling it back into her mouth, biting it in thought. “I can’t make that choice for you, Clarke.” Lexa finally said. “But I don’t see you as a trophy,” she added softly, earnestly.

It wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear, but it was enough, Clarke supposed. She smiled half-heartedly and nodded before turning back towards the ladder. 

“I’ll be back in a few days,” Clarke said, turning towards her once more, and Lexa nodded once.

“Wait for me by the horses. I need to talk to Lexa,” 14 said. “In private.” Clarke raised her eyebrows, but didn't hesitate to go down the tower’s ladder.

 

Lexa was glad for the wind as it shifted against her clothing, camouflaging her body trembling with the need to step forward, to close the space between them, to put her arms around Clarke and hold her, to stop her from ever leaving again. But she could not do that; would never do that. Clarke had made her choice and fate had chosen Lexa as Commander so there were no options left to her but to accept whatever Clarke decided.

As she watched Clarke descend, vanish from sight, Lexa realized that the feeling in her gut, that slightly sickening pain, would always be there. It felt less sharp, less blindingly real than it had when she'd left Clarke's room that night. She imagined someday it might even fade into a dull ache. But she knew she would always feel it, pulsing along like a second heartbeat whenever Clarke was around. She smiled to herself, blinking slowly, before letting the emotion melt from her face as she lifted her eyes to meet 14’s.

Lexa and 14 stood across the roof from each other for several long moments and just as Lexa was about to ask her what she wanted, 14 walked forward, stopping just in front of her. She drew the knife at her thigh and presented it, hands outstretched to Lexa.

“I owe you a debt, Commander. A life.”

“Who's life?” Lexa’s brow knitted in confusion.

“Costia’s.”

The feeling was instantaneous. The roof dropped away beneath her and she was in free-fall, the weight of the air around her compressing her chest as her heart raced. She tried to speak, but only felt her lips open, just barely, no words or breath escaping.

“I took her when she was returning to Polis from your village. I’m the one that delivered her to Azgeda,” 14 said.

“Did you hurt her?” Lexa asked, her voice hollow against the crackling fire behind her. 

“No,” 14 said, shaking her head. Lexa believed her. “I only took her. I didn’t know who she was -- they didn’t tell me. Just that my assignment was to bring her to Azgeda.” She paused, drawing a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Lexa could feel her eyes pricking with tears. She looked upwards into the brightening sky, blinking away the wetness. When she lowered her gaze, she let it fall on the knife and watched as her own hand reached forward and shakily wrapped fingers around the hilt. She pressed the tip against the skin just below 14’s collar bone. “What would you do if you were me?” Lexa asked and expected some half-truth in answer, some way of spinning the story.

“I would carve Costia’s scar into my face. Then I would slit my throat from ear to ear and my body from belly to heart and leave me for the crows,” 14 answered without hesitation, her voice low and serious. “But I come from a violent place.”

Lexa nodded. What 14 described was what every cell in her body wanted. Vengeance. Blood. She felt disconnected from her hand as she watched the knife blade travel a few inches across 14’s skin, a thin red line of blood blooming in its wake. 14 stayed perfectly still, the only movement was the gentle bob of her throat as she swallowed. 

“You and I are more alike than I think I would like to admit,” Lexa said as she dropped her hand and turned back towards the sunrise. She felt more than heard 14 move to stand next to her against the wall. “I won’t take your life,” she said.

“Can I ask why?”

“Because she loves you.” It was so obvious, Lexa hated to have to even say it. The words tasted of bile and despair. And not because she didn’t like 14, but because love would always be for other people. Because Clarke had chosen. Because Lexa had left her no choice.

“Not like you,” 14 breathed.

Lexa turned her head quickly, and saw the red sunlight reflected against 14’s grey eyes like glowing stones. “You can't know that,” Lexa said.

What 14 revealed next surprised Lexa. But it seemed like 14 was even more surprised by the revelation. Her eyes were wide and terrified, her voice confused, stilted as she spoke. “Her blood… In my veins. I feel it. I feel it like it’s singing... For _you_. I don’t even think she knows it, yet. It feels like an echo, a memory, a wish. It’s not always there. I didn’t feel it until--”

“The fight.” Lexa remembered the look on 14’s face as they’d held blades to each other’s skin. 14 nodded. “How? Does she know?”

“No. I haven’t told her. I don’t understand it all myself. I think it might have something to do with her having some of my blood. It was always forbidden for us to give our blood to anyone else… I wonder…” Lexa watched as 14 drifted away into her own thoughts for a moment before returning her focus to Lexa. “There’s a machine in Mount Weather that I hope will give me answers. I hope it will give me a way to undo it.” 

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wouldn’t have believed anything that had happened since Skaikru had crashed onto their soil even if the Spirits of the other Commanders had told her they would come to pass. And yet, here she was looking at a girl who had shown her the most impossible things and who was brought into her life by another girl who had literally fallen from the sky with eyes that matched the great blue dome above her head. It was all too much. It was not enough.

Without thinking, Lexa reached forward and let her finger trace along the cut she had left on 14’s chest. When she inspected the red coating her fingertip, she was half surprised to see that it looked just like any other blood -- besides hers. Besides the other Natblidas. It was just… blood. But then, she wasn’t sure what she expected to see. Maybe some part of her thought the bits of Clarke would glisten and shimmer like the stardust she came from. “Do you hurt like I hurt?” she murmured. 

14 blinked slowly, her mouth spreading into a small, sad smile. She stepped forward and Lexa realized she was too tired to jump as she felt 14’s hand brush the side of her throat, sliding to wrap around the back of her neck; glassy, grey eyes boring into her own like an avalanche. “No one hurts like you, Lexa,” 14 whispered.

She shouldn’t be seeing this, Lexa thought. No one should see her like this. Weak. Unprotected. And yet she lacked the strength to pull away. Defeated, Lexa closed her eyes and moments later, she felt the press of 14’s lips just above the bridge of her nose, the soft heat spread around the hard metal symbol of the Commander, warming it. She swallowed hard as she felt the glow of 14’s touch evaporate, her lips moving away and hand releasing from Lexa’s neck.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” Lexa asked more to the wind than 14 which was just as well as she realized she was alone and felt her eyes water again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I were going to kill you, it wouldn’t be with an axe,” 14 said as she followed Raven out the door, her tone so dry Raven wasn’t entirely sure she was joking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm *so sorry* it took me so long with this chapter. I re-wrote it at least 6 times. Dialog is hard and a few scenes down the line were set up in this chapter. Thanks again for sticking with the story. Also, with this update, it looks like I'm finally over 50k words! Woo! I can't believe it. Still so much more story to tell.
> 
> I'm really going to try and get the next chapter out much sooner. Sorry again for the delay.
> 
> thanks in advance to everyone who kudos and comments. :)

“I don’t fucking believe it.”

But the screen in front of her didn’t lie. It was Clarke. On horseback. She and some other girl were waiting at the locked entrance to the Mountain.

Raven heaved herself to her feet, irritated that she had left her two-way radio on the table closest to the door in the control room. She braced for the pain she knew would come; the searing, burning, otherworldly agony that had become the punctuation to so many of her movements. And, even knowing it was coming, it still took her breath away.

“Octavia. Octavia do you copy?” Raven said into the radio.

“Hey, Raven. What do you need?” Octavia’s voice came over the static.

“Clarke is at the main entrance. Go get Abby from the MedBay.”

“Clarke? Really?”

“Yeah, but she's got someone with her so--”

“I'll signal if you need to lock it down,” Octavia said with a calmness that showed no trace of the scared teenager who less than a year ago had been living under the floor of her family’s room on The Ark.

 

Clarke felt her horse shift beneath her, the bridle jingling along with the creaking leather of her saddle. She couldn’t stop staring at the door in front of her and she was sure the horse could feel her unease. Or it was bored. They had been standing here for five minutes while Clarke worked up the nerve to get down and push the big red button that served as a sort of doorbell. Her palms were sweating and she felt like she was going to throw up; the back of her throat burned with bile and she wasn’t sure if her next breath would send her insides tumbling out.

“We can stay out here all day, Clarke. But I’m getting down,” 14 said, sliding her feet out of her stirrups and hopping out of the saddle. She landed with a small wince, her legs spread slightly farther apart than normal. Clarke shifted in her saddle before sighing and following 14 to the ground, feeling more sore than she would have expected.

A loud click followed by groaning hinges spun them back around to face the door as it opened. Dim light spilled out behind a figure, and Clarke squinted until she could make out just who was letting them into the mountain.

“Clarke?” Abby’s shaky voice drifted across the distance before she hurried forward and caught Clarke in a fierce hug.

Clarke breathed in deeply, her own arms wrapping around her mother’s body. She still smelled the same. No matter how long they had been apart or how long they’d been on Earth, Abby would always smell like how Clarke remembered from childhood. Like The Ark. Like home.

“Just let me look at you,” Abby begged as they broke apart and Clarke tried to pull away from her mother’s hands as she pressed them on either side of her face. In that moment, Clarke  realized that she didn’t feel the same relief that had turned into tears, shimmering at the edges of her mother’s eyes. Even as she felt the warmth of Abby’s palms across her cheeks, reminding her of all the tears her mother’s thumbs at swept from her face as a child, it wasn’t comforting like she remembered it being.

Maybe she felt it a little. But mostly she felt hollow. Stretched too thin. She understood now how

Octavia must feel having found belonging in Lincoln, in Indra, in Trikru. Though, unlike Octavia, Clarke had always belonged, had always known Skaikru as _her people_ . But now as she looked past her mother and into the concrete hallway behind her, she realized that even if she never returned to Polis, that Mount Weather would _never_ be home to her.

“Who’s your friend? She doesn't look like a Grounder,” Octavia said, moving to stand next to Abby. She looked coiled, ready to strike.

“Her name is 14,” Clarke answered. She allowed her eyes to flicker to 14 for a moment and was glad to see she was relaxed. The last thing Clarke wanted to deal with was a fight.

“Does she speak English?” Abby asked, looking at Clarke and then 14. “Can you or Octavia translate?”

“I’m from the ground, but I’m not one of the Commander’s subjects,” 14 answered, stepping forward and extending her arm to shake Abby’s hand. Clarke noticed that when it came to Octavia, 14 grasped her forearm in the Grounder fashion.

“If you’re not one of Lexa’s people, then who are you?” Abby asked.

“Mom--” Clarke interrupted. “I promise we can talk about this later. Trust me when I say she isn't a threat. But right now, I need to talk with you and Kane. Is Bellamy around?”

“Kane is on Level 6. Bellamy and Lincoln are sealing up the Reaper tunnels.” Octavia answered. “They should be finished soon.”

“Everyone else?” Clarke asked.

“Raven’s here. But most everyone else is coming back from Arkadia this afternoon,” Abby said. “Come inside. I’ll go find Marcus and meet you in the control room.”

Clarke nodded and stepped forward before she felt the reigns in her hand pull taut and stopped in her tracks, her horse looking at her with mild irritation. “Shit. The horses,” Clarke said, mentally scolding herself for not planning their care while they were at Mount Weather. “I didn’t think--”

“I’m actually headed to Indra’s village so I can take the horses and bring them back when you leave,” Octavia said, moving closer and taking the reigns from Clarke and 14’s hands before swinging herself up easily into Clarke’s saddle. She was still acting a little cool, a little distant, but Clarke _had_ also been willing to let her die in TonDC a few months earlier so if this was the start to peace between them, well, it was a start. Octavia looked at her for another long moment before she clicked her tongue and rode off into the woods without another word.

With each step towards the open doorway, Clarke felt the hot rush of anxiety pulsing through her, sending tingling waves out towards her fingertips. She hesitated for just a moment at the threshold and felt 14’s warm, strong hand take hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze before releasing it as they both stepped inside.  


Raven watched on her monitors as the girl’s hand fell back to her side before she followed Clarke through the hallways that would lead them to the control room. Clarke moved stiffly. She looked like someone who was trying to move with a hurried delay; like she wanted to run forward and backwards at the same time. The girl, instead, moved with a lithe grace. She reminded Raven of the way Lincoln and the other Grounders could walk through the woods like deer. She kept her eyes forward, like she knew this place already; like she was some sort of animal raised to feel at home inside a concrete jungle.

When they were just outside, she pushed herself away from the table she’d been leaning on, making sure that the hiss that left her lips had evaporated by the time the door opened.

“Well look who finally decided to show up,” Raven said, smiling as soon as Clarke and the girl entered the control room. She knew her grin flickered between touching her eyes and barely hiding a pained grimace as she dragged her injured leg forward, her knee brace squeaking like a tiny instrument announcing their arrival.

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” Clarke asked, wrapping her arms around Raven. And even though Raven felt herself start to lose her balance, her injured leg not able to provide stability against Clarke’s embrace, she immediately felt Clarke squeeze harder, righting her, making sure she wouldn’t fall before they broke apart. “Did you know I was coming?”

“Indra came by a week ago to tell us you were in Polis. Figured it was only a matter of time,” Raven said. She turned her attention to the girl who had been standing quietly behind Clarke. “Though she didn’t mention anything about…”

“Sorry. Raven, meet 14. 14, Raven,” Clarke said.

Raven extended her hand and was glad for the firm, sure shake she received. Ever since she’d gotten injured, people had been treating her like she was made from thin glass, a figurine ready to tip and break at the slightest gust of wind. True, her injury made her less able than she used to be, less able than those around her. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t handle a fucking real handshake.

For the first time, Raven allowed herself to really look at Clarke’s companion. On the monitors, the girl’s hair had appeared grey, just as everyone’s was some shade of monochrome on the black and white screens. But, as she looked at the girl now, standing in front of her, she was shocked to realize that the girl’s hair and eyes were _actually_ grey, like she had been carved out of the concrete walls around them. Unexpectedly, her skin was lightly tanned, flushed with color that was somewhere between Clarke’s pale skin and her own soft, light brown. She was strikingly beautiful, and Raven thought back to the brief moment of intimacy and comfort she had witnessed as Clarke and 14 had entered the mountain, realizing that there was probably a depth to their relationship that Clarke was keeping hidden.

Raven arched an eyebrow at Clarke as she started to limp back to her chair, and saw that Clarke looked almost flustered, like her worlds were colliding and she was overwhelmed. Who Clarke was when she left was very different than who she was now, standing back inside Mount Weather with her hair down, a few sections twisted into Grounder-style braids, her clothing a mashup of Skaikru and what she must have been given when she arrived in Polis. Clarke moved between worlds, escorted by someone whose appearance made Raven question just how much she really knew about the tiny square miles she had explored since landing.

“So what have I missed?” Clarke asked, sitting on the edge of a table while 14 moved to lean against the wall next to the door.

“Well let’s see,” Raven said and pushed a few stray hairs that had fallen from her ponytail out of her face. “We had an election and Kane is Chancellor now, but I guess the biggest news would be Farm Station.”

“They’re alive?” Clarke asked, shocked.

“Yeah. We ran into them when we were up North on the Ice Nation border looking for you. Where the fuck have you been, anyway? You weren’t in Polis this whole time.” Raven could feel the bitterness coating her voice. Clarke leaving hadn’t been as devastating to her as to some -- to her mother, to Bellamy -- but she was still upset. She was still allowed to be upset. Clarke had been in charge and then as soon as it was all over, as soon as there was nothing more than a pile of pieces to be put back together, she had left, abdicating her responsibilities.

Raven watched as Clarke shifted uncomfortably, and she was sure that Clarke had picked up on the edge in her tone. For a moment, she felt remorse at the pain being back here was clearly causing in Clarke, so she decided to let Clarke remain silent. “We didn’t have enough room on The Ark and winter was brutal. Turns out a wrecked spaceship is drafty as hell. We needed to figure out if the grow system here could be salvaged because all I'd be able to tell you how to is if it turns on or not. Pike -- you remember Pike, right? Earth skills teacher?” Raven paused for a moment, allowing Clarke time to form a mental picture of her former instructor, nodding. “Ice Nation killed a bunch of Farm Station and he sort of became their ‘you’. Anyway, he had his people run through everything and thought they could get it up and running again. Couple weeks later and it's home sweet home.”

Raven paused, taking a breath. She used to be so much more animated when she spoke, and she could tell Clarke had also noticed the change when her eyes lingered on the brace wrapped around her thigh.

“How's the leg?” Clarke asked, pointing with her chin.

“Not great. Abby said surgery might be possible to remove the last bits of shrapnel, but no guarantee that fixes the pain. Might even get worse if the nerves won’t heal.” Raven gave a half-hearted shrug, hearing how her own voice sounded pulled at the edges, failing at hiding the degree of her discomfort.

Before she could start to feel sorry for herself, the door swung open and Bellamy’s voice preceded him into the room. “Hey Raven. Abby said to meet in--” Bellamy stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw Clarke, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing slightly, his gaze raking over her. He cast a quick glance at 14 before returning his attention to Clarke. “What are you doing here, Clarke?” He nearly growled the words at her.

Raven’s eyes flickered between the three of them, and she saw Clarke flinch. She must have known Bellamy, of all people, would still be affected by her abandonment. Where Clarke and her mother were head-first, The Blakes -- Bellamy and Octavia -- were all heart. Everyone who knew them knew that. It’s what made them loyal. And what made them volatile.

“We need to talk,” Clarke began, keeping her voice calm. “I came back--”

“Oh. You’ve decided it’s time to talk?” Bellamy interrupted her, his eyes beginning to burn. “The mighty Wanheda, who abandoned her people and who hasn’t been back in _months…_ Now you want to talk?”

“Bellamy--” Raven said, reaching out her arm to try and diffuse the situation. She was sure that to most people -- the ones who only ever dealt with him on practical concerns -- Bellamy must have appeared like he had made peace with his role in exterminating the people of Mount Weather, with Clarke’s departure. But Raven knew that his grief was always only just below the surface. Whereas Jasper wore his broken heart on his sleeve, lashing out at anyone even tangentially responsible for Maya’s death, Bellamy swallowed his pain, burying it beneath large gulps of Monty’s moonshine. She’d spent many late nights up with him and the other delinquents, listening as his stoic bravado melted away with each sip of alcohol; the way his eyes would water at thinking about the people he promised to protect, to help, and how he had betrayed their trust. And the one person who could understand that pain, that feeling of having to make the excruciating choice to damn the innocent along with the guilty, had left him, too.

“No, Raven. It’s fine,” Clarke said. She took a deep breath. Clarke must have known he would still be hurting, but she didn’t look like she thought it would still be this raw, this visceral. “What do you have to say to me, Bellamy?”

They watched each other for several long moments, the fire in his eyes not ebbing one bit, the muscles around his jaw bouncing as he clenched his teeth together. Raven wondered what he was stopping himself from saying. Finally, he crossed his arms again and stepped backwards to lean against the wall, casting only a quick glance at 14 before returning his focus to Clarke.

“Who is she?” Bellamy asked, tilting his head towards 14.

“She’s a friend,” Clarke said.

“Her name is 14,” Raven added. She’d been an outsider amongst the delinquents when she landed, and she didn’t think it was fair for this girl to have to bear the brunt of Clarke and Bellamy’s _issues_.

“Great,” Bellamy scoffed. “Another Grounder friend. How long before this one betrays us?”

“I’m not a Grounder,” 14 said, stepping forward and extending her hand. Raven saw surprise pass across Bellamy’s face before his scowl returned. He hadn’t expected her to speak, nor did he shake her outstretched hand. Raven caught a tiny smirk of amusement as it pulled at the edges of 14’s lips before it disappeared. Perhaps she wasn’t intimidated by Bellamy’s gruff act. “And I’ve already betrayed my own people so there’s nothing in it for me if you die,” she added.

The last part had  Raven choking back a snort of laughter and she was sure she could see Clarke biting the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. She’d be lying if she wasn’t relieved to see Bellamy’s anger had shifted away from Clarke, easily distracted by curiosity, at least for now.

“Who are your people?” Bellamy asked, choosing to ignore both of them.

“People like the ones who used to live here,” 14 said, looking past Bellamy, past the thick, grey walls surrounding them, as if she could see all the way to some far off place. “But my people were underground before the bombs dropped.”

“Underground? Why?” Raven asked.

“The pursuit of perfection,” 14 answered. She let her words hang in the air. Raven looked at Bellamy and saw the same confusion she was feeling etched on his face. And as if 14 hadn’t just said something so infuriatingly mysterious, she followed with an unexpectedly practical question. “Do you have access to the schematics of this place?”

“Schematics? Yeah. What are you looking for?” Raven asked and slid her chair towards the wall of computers behind her.

“Raven,” Bellamy interjected. “We don’t know her. We need to wait until Kane--”

“Wait until Kane what?” Kane’s voice interrupted Bellamy as he and Abby walked into the room. “Hi, Clarke. It’s good to see you,” Kane said, his eyes twinkling with sincerity as he moved forward to hug her. Raven watched as Clarke’s smile melted from her face the moment her eyes wandered back to Bellamy, who was still staring daggers from against the wall.

“Clarke’s non-Grounder ‘friend’ just wants to look at the schematics for this place,” Bellamy said, his voice low and angry.

Kane raised his eyebrows and looked to 14. “What are you looking for?” he asked. Raven was relieved to see that at least Kane wasn’t as distrusting as Bellamy. Understandably curious, yes, but not outright hostile.

“There’s a machine here that I’m hoping will give me some answers,” 14 answered, stepping forward to address Kane. “About myself.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Abby asked, turning to Clarke. “To find this machine for your friend?”

“No. I came here to talk to you about your truce with the Grounders,” Clarke said to Kane. “But 14 and Raven don’t need to be here for that if it’s okay with you for them to get started.”

Kane crossed his arms and stood quietly for a long moment, considering. “Do you trust her?” he finally asked.

“I do,” Clarke answered without hesitation. Her voice was firm. This was not open for debate. Raven smiled to herself. She missed this version of her friend. She hoped that Clarke had found her strength again in the woods, in Polis.

“With your life? With all of our lives?” Kane asked, his eyes boring into Clarke’s. "Because you’re asking me to trust her with access to this facility. Our home. And you’re asking me to let Raven go with her.”

Clarke paused, and Raven realized she’d been holding her breath. When she nodded, Raven felt herself exhale, allowing her attention to drift towards Bellamy who was still watching Clarke, his knuckles white from clenching his fists.

Raven knew it was dumb, that she didn’t know anything about this girl, but for whatever reason, she didn’t feel apprehensive about being alone with her. If anything, she was glad for an excuse to not have to sit in this room while the political talks were going on. She was much better with concrete things. Give her a task, and she’ll do it. It was all of this negotiating and hypothesizing that gave her a headache.

“Okay,” Kane said. “But--”

“I know,” Clarke said, swallowing hard. Her eyes found Raven’s again and in them, Raven saw a pleading apology, begging for Raven to trust her. Raven nodded once. She did trust her.

There was a long silence between all of them, one that kept feeling more tense the longer it stretched. Raven felt like the air would ignite any second and she wanted to leave before it exploded.

“I can access to the schematics in another computer bay. You wanna get out of here? Let them figure out the fate of the world?” Raven asked 14, as she began limping towards the doorway.

“Definitely,” 14 answered, pulling open the metal door.

“I’ll find you guys later?” Clarke called after them.

“As long as your friend doesn’t axe-murder me first,” Raven answered over her shoulder.

“If I were going to kill you, it wouldn’t be with an axe,” 14 said as she followed Raven out the door, her tone so dry Raven wasn’t entirely sure she was joking.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wondered if Lexa had felt as she did now, torn between the desire to run forward, to spill her emotions across the person in front of her like a hurricane against a lighthouse along the shore or to be the lighthouse, weathering the wind and rain with practiced stoicism. She held her tongue and braced for the worst of it, circling ever closer to the eye of the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. So sorry for the long ass delay. Work/life/the usual. I'm honestly embarrassed. This chapter was surprisingly difficult to wade thru and write. I'm excited to spend some time with Raven and 14 next. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with the story.

“She’s funny,” Abby said, nearly matching 14’s dry delivery as she turned away from the door.

Clarke smiled weakly. It’s not that her mother was wrong, exactly, but perhaps it wasn’t the best time for 14’s jokes; not when their position was so precarious.

“So, Clarke, why are you here? I get the sense it’s not to choose your own quarters.” Kane said, smiling. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“No. I’m not,” Clarke answered, shaking her head and looking at Abby, hoping not to see the heartbreak in her mother’s eyes. She deliberately avoided Bellamy’s as he remained still against the wall. Clarke couldn’t let the conversation fall into her moving back, no matter how much she could see that was what Abby wanted to discuss. “The Commander has invited Skaikru to become the 13th clan.”

“She sent you here? You’re working for Lexa now?” Abby asked, surprised. Kane appeared to have expected this. Surely he’d at least thought about it, if not directly talked about it with Lexa.

“I’m not working _for_ her, no. She asked me to,” Clarke paused, taking a deep breath and realized she would need to provide some context. “A few days after I got to Polis, I agreed to become a Skaikru Ambassador.”

Kane’s eyebrows knit together for a moment. “Indra didn’t mention that.”

Clarke shook her head, waving off his uncertainty. “It just happened. There was a ceremony; a first step towards me coming here to talk with you about joining her coalition. Did you talk to Lexa before moving into Mount Weather?”

“I only met with her briefly after--after you left.” Kane hesitated as he spoke, and Clarke could tell he was trying to avoid bringing up her slaughter of nearly everyone who used to live in the small underground city their people now occupied. “We discussed establishing a truce, and possibly taking inventory of what supplies we’d be able to use from here. But at the time, we were planning on staying in Arkadia. Before--”

“Winter. Yeah, Raven said it was pretty bad,” Clarke said, nodding, grateful for the shelter she and 14 had stumbled upon when the weather had begun to turn. “But you didn’t talk to her about when you decided to actually move in?”

“Why would we? It was ours, Clarke,” Abby answered, her tone almost defensive. “ _We_ earned it.”

 _Clarke was back in the control room with Bellamy and Monty, watching as Raven’s limp, bloody body was dragged off the operating table only to be replaced by Abby’s. Clarke could still hear the sound of the drill over Cage’s radio as he warned her to stand down; seeing the point of the drill dipping into her mother's flesh, grinding into bone as blood pooled and ran over her skin in liquid lines that appeared black on the monitors. She could still feel the cold handle of the lever through her glove and the warmth of Bellamy’s hand as he placed his over the back of hers. And she could still feel the slight mechanical resistance as she’d moved the lever down,_ earning _her people a place on this Earth._

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment. She knew this wouldn’t be easy. “It was. It is. But it’s caused problems within the clan alliance. I agreed to become Skaikru’s Ambassador in Polis as a way to hopefully start the process for us to join Lexa’s coalition.”

“But why should we? Our truce has been holding for the past few months, Clarke,” Kane said. “We’re well protected here and it seems like this is a problem for Lexa and not for us. Wading further into their politics doesn't seem wise.”

“Ice Nation has already been undermining Lexa’s strength as Commander when we didn’t die, starting from back before you landed; back when it was just us at the Dropship.” She allowed her eyes to flicker towards Bellamy, the only other person in the room who remembered those days. But Bellamy still seemed unmoved, deliberately ignoring her. “And if we aren’t part of her coalition, she cannot protect us if… _when_ … Ice Nation attacks.”

“We’ve had our issues with them, but why would they attack directly? Could this be related to Farm Station?” Abby asked, lowering her voice as she turned to face Kane.

“Farm Station? I thought Raven said they survived.”

“Not all of them. Not even half of them,” Kane said, somberly. “Azgeda almost wiped them all out before we found them.”

“When you were looking for me?” Clarke asked, ignoring the twinge in her gut.

“Yes. It was an unexpected boon to find them, but it wasn’t without consequences,” Kane answered, his eyes briefly resting on Bellamy, still standing against the wall, his own eyes glassy and fixed firmly on the floor in front of him. Clarke swallowed hard, feeling a wave of guilt at learning her absence had somehow caused even more pain for those she cared about. “This still doesn’t explain _why_ all of this is happening, now, Clarke. There’s no reason for Ice Nation to attack. Even if they got inside our walls by fighting only us and not Lexa's forces, they would still take heavy losses. It seems like a lot of risk just to make Lexa look weak.”

“It might be more than just a power play,” Clarke said. “14 thinks it has something to do with Mount Weather itself. She said her people have aligned with Azgeda in the past and there’s something they want here.”

“She also said she was trying to find answers about herself, but now you’re telling us it’s something that her people and Azgeda would kill for? Do you know what she’s looking for exactly? ” Kane asked.

“As soon as I know, you’ll know.”

“How have we never heard of her people before?” Abby asked. “Why has Lexa never mentioned them?”

Clarke thought back to the day in the bunker where 14 had first used her official Grounder title: _Wanheda_. She’d said there were more players controlling the board than Clarke knew and she had to stop herself from shivering at the memory.

“Lexa didn’t even know who they were. She--” Clarke paused, debating for a moment whether to tell them everything, and realizing she needed to if they were going to trust her again. “She has a tattoo here that you might have seen,” Clarke said, touching her fingertips to the hair above her ear. “Apparently it’s a symbol that the Grounders recognize as part of their religion. Lexa’s advisor, Titus, attacked her when he saw it.”

“They don’t know why she has it? Does she?” Abby kept pressing for more answers about 14 and Clarke wondered if her interest in the girl with the grey hair had shifted into professional curiosity. Her adrenaline surged at the thought that her mother would say or do something to make 14 feel like she was back in a research lab.

“She said it was a logo or something.” Clarke shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant. “But even she doesn’t know why the Grounders also use it. Back when we were--” Clarke stopped herself, realizing she wasn’t ready to tell them _everything_. “Back before I was in Polis, she told me that she knew about us. About Lexa. About the Mountain Men. And she said there were Others.” Clarke shook her head slightly, answering Kane’s silent question about whether she knew who the Others might be.

“You're asking for us to take a lot on faith.” In Kane’s words were a clear message to Clarke that what she was proposing carried more weight than just a decision between them: it could lead to their entire civilization becoming extinct. Her stomach twisted at the thought; at the memory of being the one who others had trusted and whose lives she’d determined to be worth less than her own peoples’.

“I know.” Clarke nodded solemnly. Despite having prepared herself as best she could for this conversation, it had started to chip away at her defenses, at the shell around her guilt and self-loathing.

Kane rocked back on his heels slightly. “So it seems like we have two options, at this point. Either we join Lexa’s coalition, and hope she keeps her word to protect us or we take our chances on our own and find out whether Azgeda really intends to risk their entire army to wipe us out and get whatever they want in here. I still have to say, Clarke, it’s a tough sell for us to trust Lexa as an actual ally again.”

“I know. I know it’s asking a lot. But I also know if you’re expecting we can just take our chances and fight them, I don’t think you understand just how big Ice Nation really is. It would dwarf the army that surrounded us when Finn--” Clarke stopped herself, suddenly not trusting her voice to hold as she could almost feel Finn’s warm, sticky blood between her fingers. Her mother and Kane remained quiet as she got herself under control. She needed to keep it together for just a little while longer. “I don’t know the full story about what happened in their territory, but I can assure you if they’d been the one to find me, I would be dead. I’ve seen just how little their Ambassador cares about Lexa’s orders when it comes to dealing with us. If we don’t join, Azgeda’s Queen _will_ try to take power from Lexa. Then they’ll be at our door.”

“Then let them come, Clarke,” Abby said. Her voice felt like a challenge not only to Clarke, to Lexa and the Grounders, but to the very Earth itself for its unrelenting savagery since any of them had dared put their weight upon its soil. “We have more than enough weapons and Bellamy and Lincoln have been working to make sure no one will be able to get in.”

“Please tell me that going to war is not what you want,” Clarke pleaded, shocked at the turn her mother had taken. No, not shocked. Her mother had, after all, been willing to send Clarke and nearly a hundred other children down to Earth with no guarantee of survival. She realized in this moment that her mother had always been this cold, this calculating. It’s what made her a good doctor, a good leader. Though, perhaps, it was best that Kane had been elected as he seemed at least more open-minded about a future relationship with Lexa and her people.

Clarke thought back to the Kane she knew on The Ark: a man so bound by his perception of duty he couldn’t see any compromise in enforcing the rule of law. It was as if Earth had blended the light and dark into grey and Clarke couldn’t help but smile to herself thinking the grey in Kane’s beard was like a beacon announcing his commitment to becoming a measured, nuanced leader of their people.

“We’ve been at war since we landed, Clarke,” Bellamy’s low voice finally joined the conversation. His tone was tinged with anger, but there was an undercurrent of sadness, of defeat. “And they’re not getting inside.”

Bellamy’s silence until this point had been the most surprising element of this entire exchange. It was the first time Clarke really understood so much more had changed within her best friend than she’d anticipated. He was no longer her ally. He was so dark, so tortured and resentful and the sinking dread in her stomach grew heavier as she realized the absence of his support that she’d come to rely on--to expect--was just another casualty of their friendship she had to accept.

“But don’t you want it to stop? Sure these walls will protect you. Ice Nation won’t be able to get inside, but that also means that no one here will be able to go _outside_. Is that what you want? Is that what all of this was for? To trade one prison in space for another on the ground? Tell me you don’t want to be the next Mountain Men. Because that’s what you’ll become.” Clarke could feel the emotion in her voice squeezing at her throat, almost pushing the tears from her eyes.

Her words hung in the air for long seconds that might have even stretched into minutes -- she couldn’t tell. The only thing she was aware of was the sound of her own heartbeat, the way her blood pulsed, feeling it in her fingertips, in her ears, behind her eyes.

Clarke watched as Kane ran his fingers through his hair, dragging his palm behind his neck and back around to scratch his beard, thinking. “What do you think, Bellamy? Will our defenses hold? Or should we join the Commander’s coalition?”

“That’s not… It doesn’t matter whether I think we should or shouldn’t, Sir,” Bellamy answered stiffly.

“I put you in charge of security which means you’re part of this conversation. I’m asking what you think,” Kane said, his voice authoritative but encouraging. Clarke looked between them, realizing that where she had failed Bellamy, Kane had embraced him, becoming a figure in his life that he’d never known: a mentor. The potential she had seen in Bellamy as a friend, a colleague, as a general under her leadership had been nurtured by Kane in her absence. She could tell Bellamy trusted him more than he trusted her.

“Our people elected _you_ to lead us. Joining the coalition would mean that Lexa--or whoever the next Commander is--is our true leader. Will we get to stay here? Will we get to keep our guns? Will we have to get tattoos and fight to the death? Are you prepared to stand up and tell everyone who has made it this far that this is what we’ve fought so hard for? To bow down to these people who have tried to kill us over and over?”

“I haven’t said I’m going to--” Kane tried to interject, but it seemed that Bellamy was getting worked up, steamrolling through Kane’s interruption.

“And maybe Clarke is right. Maybe joining _is_ the best choice. But standing in this room talking about it... Nothing has changed. Up in space. Down here. You. Clarke. It’s the same thing all over again. Clarke says we should join. That we -- that our people -- should become the 13th Clan. That we should become Grounders.” Bellamy paused, shaking his head his eyes now glassy with emotion. “It's always been people like you telling people like me who they should be.”

Clarke was dumbstruck. She’d assumed Bellamy was opposing her because he was still angry with her for leaving. And maybe he still was, she thought. But he was also the only one in the room who hadn’t grown up with the privilege of deciding his own fate. There had always been someone above him, directing his life: where he could live, what job he could do. Even the assassination attempt he’d made on Jaha had been at the direction of someone else just so Bellamy would be able to follow his sister down to Earth. And here she had come back with a way to save all of their people from certain war, but it came at the price of their autonomy. It didn’t matter that _she_ trusted Lexa. It didn’t matter that her intentions were good. She was one of the players on 14’s board, moving pieces, moving lives; telling Bellamy that he couldn’t just stay Skaikru if he wanted, but that he should become the Commander’s subject.

She wondered how 14 didn’t share Bellamy’s bitterness at watching their lives be directed by others. Or maybe she was just better at hiding it.

Before anyone could respond,  the room was engulfed in static crackling over Kane’s radio for a moment before he unclipped it from his belt.

“Chancellor Kane, there’s a rider from Polis to see you.”

“Are you sure you don’t mean Clarke?” Kane said, bringing the radio to his face.

“Yes. He says he has a message he must deliver to the Chancellor personally.”

“Okay. Thank you, Harper. We’ll be right there.” Kane lowered the radio. “Abby?” he asked and Abby followed him towards the door. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The door swung shut behind them, the clang of the latch echoing in the room in time with Clarke’s pounding heart as she finally allowed her eyes to rest on Bellamy. He was so still, it was unnerving; his arms still crossed furiously against his chest. But his eyes--his eyes were  raised towards the ceiling and Clarke wondered if it was because he couldn’t stand to look at her or if it was an effort to keep his cheeks dry.

“Bellamy--”

“Don’t, Clarke. Just--just don’t,” he said without lowering his gaze to meet her. “You already got what you wanted. Kane will join the coalition. You convinced him. It’s our only real option.”

She was confused. Despite his initial reticence, she thought Bellamy had come around to her side, at least as far as the coalition went. “What I wanted? That’s not fair. I--”

“Oh it’s not fair? You and me and Monty killing hundreds of people and you decide to just disappear right after _is_ fair? All of these people who trusted us -- trusted me -- and we killed them. Not you. _We_. It might have been your decision but it was my hand on yours and it was Monty at the keyboard.” Bellamy was practically shaking with rage as he his voice grew louder with every step he took away from the wall towards her. “Did you even think to ask about Jasper after we killed Maya? He’s been a fucking mess but you wouldn’t know any of that because you haven’t been here.”

“I--I’m sorry,” Clarke said, barely above a whisper, almost breaking around the tightness in her throat. There was nothing she could say to defend herself. She realized that while Bellamy might support her plan, there was still so much pain between them. She deserved this. She deserved all of it.

For a moment, she could feel the gentle give of Lexa’s skin, the drop of blood blooming around the tip of the blade. She wondered if Lexa had felt as she did now, torn between the desire to run forward, to spill her emotions across the person in front of her like a hurricane against a lighthouse along the shore or to be the lighthouse, weathering the wind and rain with practiced stoicism. She held her tongue and braced for the worst of it, circling ever closer to the eye of the storm.

“What exactly are you sorry for, Clarke? Are you finally apologizing for deciding my sister was an acceptable loss at TonDC? Are you sorry for not even having the courage to tell me yourself before you left? Because to me, it looks like you saw the work that it was going to take to fix everything after you and Lexa killed everyone there and after we killed everyone who used to live here... and you decided that was someone else’s problem to deal with.” His voice had shifted to an almost eerie calm, like wisps of smoke swirling into the sky after an explosion as he shook his head slowly, almost disbelieving. ”How can you just come back here like everything is fine--like _you’re_ fine with everything we’ve done? Everything she made us do?”

“Everything she made us--Bellamy! Fine? I’m not fine! And do you wanna know why?” Clarke sobbed, the tears spilling from the corners of her eyes as she furiously tried to blink them away. “Because I don’t know if I would have done any different if the situation had been reversed. I’d like to think that I would have, but now I don’t know anymore.” Clarke felt like she was going to throw up at finally admitting that truth aloud. “We killed _all. These. People._ I decided that my people, _our_ people’s lives were worth more than theirs were. I couldn’t deal with looking at you, at my mom, at every single person who’s life I decided was worth more than everyone who used to live here. All I could do was feel… I left because I thought I needed to fix those feelings. I thought that they could be fixed, that I could become stronger. I thought I could become like them. Like the Grounders. Like Lexa. They make the pain look so… easy. But even she didn’t want to turn me into that,” Clarke said, her voice quieting. She took a shaky breath as she wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “I don’t even know if I ever could have. The nightmares still wake me up.”

The tears stayed in Bellamy’s eyes, but she heard a small sniffle as he went back to lean against the wall, casting his eyes back towards the floor.  “Me too,” Bellamy whispered, the words thick and sticky with emotion. “I guess… I guess it just would have been nice to not be the only one awake.”

“I’m sorry for leaving, Bellamy,” Clarke said, her voice small, like shards of thin glass as she moved towards him. “But I knew I could because they had you.”

  
Finally, he lifted his head to meet her gaze, and although his jaw was still clenching and unclenching, his hands still balled into fists, he nodded. It was small, and Clarke wondered if she’d imagined it, but she was sure she hadn’t. It didn’t mean everything was fixed between them, but maybe they could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to new story-outline beta for the help.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there’s something in our blood that affects the programming. Maybe we’re just a variable that the code wasn’t prepared to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. It's been a while. I'm so sorry for the delay, but I want to thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my little robotic heart for sticking with this story. 
> 
> Your comments -- even the ones to be like "hey... just waiting on that next chapter... no presh... -- are so so *so* appreciated.
> 
> This chapter was a beast. Tons of info. Prepare yourselves for Dr. Mom and sassy Raven (and maybe even a little sass back from 14?)
> 
> Hope you like it.

Raven guided 14 down the hall from the control room to what had sort of become her “office” -- at least that’s how she liked to think of it. There was a small cluster of computers that acted as a redundancy for the control room, but most of her time was spent hunched over one of the three tables covered by piles of small electronic and mechanical projects in various states of repair.

At first, she’d been surprised when Kane had asked her to take over the management of repairs and engineering when they moved into Mount Weather. After all, Wick technically outranked her, so everyone (Raven included) had expected the job to go to him. But when it didn’t -- and when her promotion came just on the heels of her breaking off their brief romance -- his attitude towards her had become much less agreeable.

The thing was, it wasn’t that she didn’t like him. She thought he was great… for someone else. There was some some crucial piece of connection, some wire left unsoldered in her heart that prevented a spark from forming when the passion of the first few weeks had cooled. Raven sometimes thought about whether she and Finn would have stayed together if Clarke and a hundred other things hadn’t come between them, or if their romance had also been circumstantial, had always carried an expiration date.  

Regardless, she didn’t have the time or energy to focus on anything besides her job. Now that they were settling into Mount Weather and could start to think about problems beyond surviving until the next sunrise, her queue of projects grew exponentially as things besides guns and radios were finally allowed resources for repairs. After finding her asleep at her workbench for the third time, Kane had ordered her to pick a small team to help her.  Now she was able to hand off some of the work to either Monty or Wick (his attitude thankfully approaching cordial). She set up her table system on day one.

The first table, nearest the door, was for triage. It didn’t take long for the other Arkers to learn that they were supposed to drop off whatever they had broken and get out, preferably without disturbing her from whatever she was working on. Each morning, she would comb through the various radios, small machines, and anything else that had been left on the first table and assign it to either Wick’s or Monty’s piles on the second table. The third table was her workshop, littered with tools and small containers filled with screws and springs and wires and anything else she might need to improvise a fix. 

“So what’s it take to get on that last table?” 14 asked, moments after following Raven into the room, her eyes sweeping quickly over Raven’s three-table system, understanding it immediately.

“I get the interesting ones. Or the ones no one else can fix.”

“Does anything ever stay broken?”

“Not after I’m done with it,” Raven smirked and limped towards the computers along the wall to sit down in one of the chair, the quirk in her mouth falling into a hard line as soon as 14 couldn’t see her face. “So what am I looking for?” she asked, spinning around towards the keyboard, the rubber wheels of her chair squealing on the hard floor. 

“I’m… I’m not sure, actually.” 14 trailed off, her voice uncertain. “I don’t know who was in contact with my people, but I’d guess it was someone with medical training. A doctor, probably?”

“Tsing.” Raven spat the name bitterly. She could still remember the way her blood had looked, unexpectedly dark and thick, as it cascaded in rivulets around where the drill bits had pierced her skin, the memory of the high-pitched whirring sending a shiver down her spine.

14 gritted her teeth together and nodded. “Tsing. Dr. Tsing would have probably wanted to keep the research private, but easy to access. Maybe start with the MedBay?” 14 scooted her chair so that their shoulders were nearly touching as they both leaned towards the monitor. 

Raven pulled up the electrical schematics on the screen and they began scanning through the diagrams.

“There.” 14 said suddenly, pointing to a bright spot. “What’s that?” 

Raven zoomed in. The bright spot turned out to be located behind a row of lines representing a room in the back of the MedBay. “Definitely routing some serious power there. Though it could just be a backup for some equipment. But then again maybe not. I guess we’ll find out.” Raven slid her chair over to the first table and picked up a small bag from the floor, filling it quickly with a few broken radios and some tools, and set it on the table while she stood. When she went to reach for it again, it was gone. 14 had slung it over her shoulder and was already standing by the door. Raven was dumbstruck. Was she really that slow getting up? She didn’t think so. Besides, she hadn’t heard anything rattle in the bag either. But somehow, this girl -- who had only just been joking about killing her when they’d left the control room a few minutes ago -- managed to swipe her bag full of tools and radios and walk across the room like some kind of a goddamn ninja from the cheesy old kung-fu movies that Finn liked to watch on the Ark.

This was turning into a very weird day.

“Lead the way,” 14 said, reaching for the doorknob.

Raven forced herself to ignore the brief flash of fear slid like cold water through her stomach and tried to remind herself that yes, despite everything that'd happened between her and Clarke, at the end of the day, she still trusted Clarke. And for whatever reason, Clarke trusts this girl.

As they walked towards the MedBay, Raven clenched her jaw in irritation at the sound her brace made with every step she took. She’d gotten used to tuning out the pain, but the squeaks and groans it made with every step as it embraced and released her shifting weight never disappeared into the background. No amount of grease or tinkering seemed to fix it, either. It was was simply her brace’s pulse; her second heartbeat.

By the time they reached Dr. Tsing’s office, the pain was starting to become too much to ignore and Raven sank heavily into one of the chairs in front of a cluttered desk.

“Does it hurt?” 14 asked, looking at Raven’s knee brace as she set the bag down on the desk.

“After a while.” Raven began massaging her thigh, even though it never helped. “But these long hallways are great for my cardio,” she added, trying to pass it off with a laugh, with a smile that didn't even approach her eyes. She couldn’t look away as 14 held her gaze for a long moment, watched her mouth form into a small, sad smile that flickered with the lights overhead. Before Raven could start feeling sorry for herself, she coughed, clearing the emotion squeezing at her throat and shifted her attention to the wall behind 14. “The room from the schematics _should_ be along that wall… but I don’t see a door.”

14 walked around the room, her palms drifting over along patches of bare walls. She pulled books and stacks of paper from shelves. FInally, she stopped in front of a large cabinet, her eyes dropping towards the floor.  

Raven followed her gaze and saw what had attracted her attention: tiny grooves along the floor under the cabinet; small enough that no one would notice unless they had been looking for them. 14 crouched low to the ground, her fingertips tracing the small indentations before she stood up again, now running her hands along the sides and back corners of the cabinet.

“Do you need help?” Raven asked, but by the time she’d finished speaking, 14 had already managed to slide the cabinet along the grooves and away from the wall, revealing another room behind it. Raven hurried to her feet to follow 14 inside.

“This doesn’t look like a backup generator to you, does it?” 14 asked when they were both inside the room.

“Not exactly,” Raven agreed, looking around. The room was small, cramped, it’s main focus a single table with what looked like a cross between a computer terminal and what Raven realized were the missing medical devices from the equipment manifest they’d found while taking inventory of the lab. On the other side of the table, nearest the monitor, were tidy stacks of folders filled with papers, their edges yellowed and curled with age. Raven wondered just how many generations of butchers before Dr. Tsing had used this room.

“Should we turn it on?” 14 pushed the button on the front of a beige cube; the monitor blinked to life as the room was filled with the high pitched hum of small computer fans, whirring and wheezing, slowly awakening from digital slumber. 14 moved to sit in front of the computer as Raven lowered herself into the other chair and decided to try and figure out how the pile of medical parts fit with the computer terminal.

“This is unfinished,” Raven said, almost immediately. While she didn’t understand what the machine was supposed to _do_ , she recognized an unfinished project when she saw one. Her office was littered with them. 14 swiveled in her chair to look at the pieces in Raven’s hands. “See? The connections aren’t correct and this piece here needs to be re-soldered.” Raven was almost mumbling to herself, already planning out how she would fix it. “There’s actually a lot to be done. I wonder what the point of the monitor is if the rest of this doesn’t work yet.”

“Can you fix it?”

Raven quirked an eyebrow at 14, smiling. She was in her element. She liked the way a challenge felt, something tricky and elusive. It sent a rush through her, the endorphins moving all awareness of her leg blissfully into the background. Sometimes she would go without sleep, worried that the breadcrumbs she was following to solve a problem would be gone in the morning, like they could be eaten away by birds while she slept. “But it might take a while. Look and see what else you can find,” she said, jutting her chin back at the monitor. “And if you find out anything about what it’s actually supposed to _do_ , that would be helpful.”

14 nodded once, her expression relaxing, and scooted her chair back in front of the keyboard. Raven reached into her bag for her tools and began itemizing the parts in front of her, the spinning fans now accompanied by the gentle clicking of keys as 14 began her research.  
  


“So your machine was hidden away in my lab?” Abby’s voice startled Raven in her seat.  They’d been in the room for at least a few hours, judging by how stiff her leg had become, but the white noise of the computer and occasional paper-shuffling by 14 had created a muffling cocoon around them, shielding them from the echoing concrete hallways outside.

“Where’s Clarke?” 14 asked, craning her neck around Abby towards the door.

“Resting. She said she was feeling tired,” Abby answered, stiffly. Raven wondered if something had happened in the control room. 14 nodded as if that wasn’t surprising. “Is this what you came here for? Looks less like a machine and more like one of your tables, Raven.”

“It just needs a little of my special brand of T.L.C.,” Raven smirked. “Or maybe a lot. But I also might punch the next person who brings me another damn radio, so it’s probably best that I’m in here.”

Abby folded her arms and stepped into the room, her attention falling on the table Raven was working on. “What are these doing in here? Did you take them from my lab? We’re already missing one centrifuge from the inventory logs.”

“They were in here already,” Raven answered. “They’re part of the machine. Or will be, according to the diagram I’m working from.” She pointed to a binder filled with pages of notes and drawings.

“And what will it do once you’ve got it working again?” Abby asked, and Raven could hear the skepticism in her voice.

“Fix what’s wrong with me,” 14 answered flatly. It seemed like every time 14 answered a question, she opened up a dozen more in Raven’s mind. Honestly, Raven wondered how long it had taken Clarke to become accustomed to these cryptic conversations. But she kept her mouth shut and instead watched as 14 reached behind her and grabbed one of the thicker folders on the desk, handing to Abby. “I think you’ll find answers to most of your questions about me in there. 

Abby’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, but she recovered quickly. “Is all this about you? Why did the Mountain Men have files on you?” She stepped forward and took the folder from 14’s outstretched hand.

With a quick glance at Raven, 14 spun her seat around and resumed scrolling through screens of text and charts on the monitor. Abby stood frozen for a moment before she began flipping through the papers in her hands and when it didn’t look like she would be explaining anything soon, Raven went back to trying to figure out how to assemble the mess in front of her.

 

The hard, slapping sound of the folder being dropped on the desk pulled Raven away from the switch re-wiring she'd been working on. Whoever had wired this before didn't notice the voltage on this component was different than most of the others. It was an understandable mistake to make (to anyone but her, of course).

“This is impossible,” Abby began, tapping her fingernail on the stack of papers for emphasis. “There’s no way--The research and technology required--”

“As I said earlier, my people were working _before_ the bombs. You don’t think that in a hundred years, science couldn’t have produced this?” 14 gestured to herself and Raven was confused. All she saw was a girl about her own age, sitting in a chair. Apart from her hair and eyes (and general strange personality), there was nothing unusual about her. 

“Why though? Why do it?” Abby crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot as Raven wheeled her chair closer, her eyes darting between them like a ping pong ball.

“Over the course of human history, those in power had moved from battle armies to bombs to drone strikes to assassinations with surgical precision. We were just going to be the next the next weapon, the next agent of death available to the highest bidder. Soldiers who could survive nearly anything, be reborn-- _healed_ \--our memories and training intact. Then the world ended.” 14 sniffed, her shoulders shrugging slightly. “And it became about survival for who was left. Armies formed again, alliances forged and broken. It was a perfect way to test us, test the technology, the decades of research and resources poured into our bodies.” Raven watched as she brought her hands together, her fingers intertwining, almost fidgeting. It was as if she noticed her own hands suddenly, quickly separating them and placing them flat against her thighs, her posture ridgid. “My generation was the first to be able to use blood in the field, without an IV line; each iteration building on the last. The grey--” 14 lifted her hand and ran her fingers through her hair, revealing the strange tattoos on her scalp above her ear again before the soft grey pieces fell back into place. “--was a result of that genetic change.”

“And you’re the last? Of your generation?” Abby asked and 14 nodded once. “What are they working on now that you’re gone?”

“If I had to guess? Preparing for the next evolution,” 14 said, the nonchalance in her tone making it harder for Raven to keep quiet. She had so many questions, but she was also so absorbed in the story unfolding that she didn’t dare interrupt, the knee of her good leg bounced rapidly as she tried to redirect her energy. “Even after the apocalypse, people still have the same motivations: power, greed. I wonder if the tech is just to make sure some of us survive the next culling of humanity.”

“Salvation in a silicon chip,” Abby whispered before shaking her head in disbelief. “But the regenerative speed--It’s just not possible...”

Raven was so absorbed in the story unfolding that she didn't realize 14 had turned to look at her, and Raven could swear she seemed nervous. But not a moment later, she blinked slowly, stood, and turned towards Abby again, her expression aloof and smooth again. 14 hooked her fingers underneath the collar of her shirt and pulled it down to reveal a small patch of pink skin. “This is from a bullet less than a week ago.” From her chair, Raven could see the shine of fresh scar tissue, recognizing its smooth surface, the way it wrinkled slightly as 14 held her shirt open.

 _Raven still could feel the blistering heat of the air in the moments before the glowing red lag bolt was pressed to her shoulder blade. She had gritted her teeth against the white hot pain, against the rank smell of her own singed flesh that filled the room, her grimace turning into a grin at the whoops and cheers of her fellow mechanics. And amidst the rush of endorphins that surged through her blood to mute the pain as she was initiated into her new family, she had already started wondering what the brand for zero-g mechanics looked like._  

“May I?” Abby asked, leaning forward and bringing her hands to where 14’s still held her collar open. Raven could see the brief hesitation on 14’s face before her expression steeled and she nodded once. She held her injured arm towards Abby who gently took her wrist, placing her other palm at 14’s shoulder as slowly tested range of motion. Satisfied, her practiced hands moved to press softly at the wound, pulling aside the edge of the shirt a little more. “You have more scars.” It wasn’t a question. “Everywhere?” 14 nodded and gripped the hem of her shirt, lifting it to expose her torso. Raven could see the contrast of lighter scar tissue like pencil strokes across her smooth skin. Along her ribs were two fresher scars, still pink and tender, their edges pulled tight with dark thread. Abby crouched and was silent for a long moment as she examined the stitching. But then, she looked up suddenly, her voice unexpectedly quiet, barely containing the horror Raven could feel behind it. “Do you feel pain?”

“Yes.” There was nothing in 14’s voice that asked for the pitied look she received from Abby. It was a look Raven recognized; she’d seen it directed at her, at Clarke, at the others. It was flash of sadness as Abby faced the reminder that none of them were kids anymore. In 14’s case, Raven realized she might never have been.

“Hold up. Why wouldn’t you be able to feel pain?” Raven's next thought jumped from her lips, unable to keep her questions to herself anymore. She didn't allow herself to think about what an absence of pain would feel like; knowing even imagining the blissful lack of sensation would bring tears to her eyes.

“She’s not human, Raven,” Abby answered before 14 could speak. “Not entirely. The file she gave me details how her people spent decades creating generations of test subjects, slowly enhanced with nanotechnology. It’s designed to repair injury by transforming red blood cells into stem cells.” 

“So you’re part tech?” Raven’s eyebrows knit together. The revelation was unexpected, but not unbelievable, especially since they were sitting in the secret lab used by a deranged doctor who had created a serum that made Grounders into lobotomized cannibals. 14 nodded as she lowered her shirt and sat back in her seat. “If they had the ability to remove pain, why wouldn’t they?”

“Because removing pain was never the objective. Allowing us to feel pain helps with data collection, tracking recovery through combat and surgery. Without pain, how would we know the difference between injury and just being hurt?” 14 paused, the liquid grey of her eyes shimmering in the dim light. “Sometimes pain is the only thing that can tell you you’re still alive.” She held Raven's gaze for a long moment, never once letting her eyes drop to the knee brace.

Abby was still clearly thinking about the wounds, her eyebrows drawing together in a crease. “But those healed differently. The scar tissue is different. It’s almost as if it started to heal at normally. And it looks like it was originally held together with--”

“Staples. Yes,” 14 said quietly. “When I escaped, they were still fresh. Running -- and fighting the guards they sent after me -- pulled them out.”

“I don’t understand. You killed the guards?” 14 nodded. “Then why didn’t you use their blood? The subcutaneous layers look like they were already starting to heal before the stitches were put in.”

“I tried. Each and every one of them. And every time I just threw it right back up and onto the forest floor. There must be gallons soaked into the leaves between Polis and my facility.” Raven’s stomach roiled, she felt her throat tighten, her mouth water with nausea. She’d suspected the way Abby and 14 had been talking around the use of blood meant there was something they were avoiding discussing in front of her, but to finally have it confirmed… Raven swallowed hard, suddenly aware that 14 was looking at her and she could taste the salt from the thin sheen of sweat on her upper lip as she pulled it into her mouth for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She smiled weakly, hoping the small movement wouldn’t cause her breakfast to resurface. When it didn’t, she nodded once and 14 continued. “When I got to Polis, I could barely stand. The Commander brought her into the room and… and I was too weak to stop Clarke--”

At the mention of her daughter, Abby looked up and into 14’s eyes, her own suddenly on fire. Her voice was shaking when she spoke. “How much?” 

“I don’t know. Not as much as the first time--”

“The _first_ time?”

“It was to protect her. They had to think she was dead or they would have taken her along with me back to the lab. I don’t know what they would have done to her, but I couldn’t let that happen. I probably took too much, but there wasn’t time. I only had a few minutes. I had to trust that she would be okay,” 14’s voice quivered for a moment, and her eyes went unfocused, back to some horrible place Raven wasn’t sure she wanted to know about.

“You could have killed her!” The anger in Abby’s voice was tempered by fear; it was only by chance that Clarke had returned to her.

“Don’t you think I know that?” 14 nearly shouted, jumping to her feet, her own emotions bristling at the edges of her words, wavering between rage and despair. After her initial outburst, she seemed surprised to find herself standing and quickly sat back in her chair. Her voice was eerily quiet, nearly breaking when she spoke again. “It’s why I tried to _stop_ her from giving me her blood again when I found her in Polis. I was prepared to die if that was my fate. She was safe under the Commander’s protection. Clarke was trying to save me, and I was too weak to stop her.” She said the last part like she was disgusted with herself.

The room sunk into a tense silence, the computer fans and occasional clicks roaring back into focus. It was the kind of tension that made Raven feel like everything was vibrating at a frequency outside her ability to hear, but one that she could feel in the spaces between cells of her body, urging her to run. Not that she could run even if she wanted to. But she didn’t like conflict, at least not the kind that felt so personal between to people; between a mother and the person who could have easily taken the life of her daughter. The seconds stretched longer and longer, though Raven realized it had probably been less than ten before she heard Abby exhale, the valve on the pressure that had been bearing down on them released.  

She recognized the look in her eyes as Abby stared at the floor. It was the same look Clarke had when she was trying to solve a problem. Whereas Raven always found something to fidget with -- a pen to spin between her fingers, a ball to bounce against a wall -- the Griffin women seemed to retreat inward, their gazes focusing on some distant horizon, waiting for the dawn to bring answers.

“It worked. You were able to use her blood?” 14 nodded as Abby pushed away from the wall and began to pace, her attention refocused, the gentle scuff of her boots adding another layer to the mechanical symphony of the room. “Why do it, though? Why make hers the only blood you can use? Is Clarke in danger?”

“When she found me in the woods, there was already a heavy bounty on her head from Ice Nation. I get the sense the Clarke is often in danger.” 14 said, barely concealing a smirk. Raven tried to contain her smile, letting it grow when she saw Abby’s scowl soften. “But from my people? No. I don’t think so. They have had ample time to come after us, and for whatever reason, we’re not a priority. As for why they modified the code, it’s something I’ve been wondering.” 14 paused for a moment, tapping the text on the screen. “There are old communications from Dr. Tsing explaining how to not just force a desire, chemically, for blood, like with her Reapers and the serum, but how to make the technology--the body--reject others. She _was_ brilliant,” 14 said, almost apologetically. “But I don’t see a purpose to it, at least if we’re still assuming this is part of a data set. Binding the tech to a single source--”

“Maybe they didn’t.” Raven only realized she’d been bending the scrap of wire between her fingers back and forth until the metal snapped apart in her hands. She tossed it onto the table. “Dr. Tsing used our bone marrow to engineer a way for these people to survive on the surface. Maybe there’s something in our blood that affects the programming. Maybe we’re just a variable that the code wasn’t prepared to handle.” She looked up from the wire and into 14’s eyes. The gaze she met was intense and focused. It pinned her down in place, as if she wasn’t planning to stay still and right where she was.

Eventually, 14 looked away, pulling her lower lip into her mouth, her words hard to understand as she seemed to be speaking to herself. “Perhaps… they knew--” She cut herself off, appearing to shake away whatever she was thinking for another time. “Whatever the reason, this machine should allow me to access the code to change it.” She glanced between Raven and Abby, her grey eyes reflecting the steel of her resolve before spinning her chair back to face the screen. “I won’t let her be my only salvation.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for sticking with this story. I hope the characters' voices are coming through OK. I realized when I decided to return to Mt. Weather, I'd have to figure out how to write beyond Clarke, Lexa and 14. :)
> 
> We'll be spending more time with Raven and 14 and Clarke's complicated heart in the next few chapters. 
> 
>  
> 
> Intense. Inevitable. The way a small, tender green shoot will forever reach towards the sky, no matter the rain and wind and scorching sun that try to deny it.

Clarke pushed the food around on her plate. The sharp scraping of cutlery against metal plates and the low din of people talking around her made it easy for her to drift in and out of the conversation at her table. Her mind felt slippery after her nap. Trying to hold onto a thought was like like walking across a stream barefoot, the rocks under her feet covered in slick, green vegetation. Each misstep sent her reeling downstream, hands grasping at water, neuron's firing without connection.

“So you eat food, then?” Raven asked, pointing across the table at 14 whose cheeks were stuffed, yet somehow accepting another spoonful of food. “No liquid-only diet?”

“Mmmhmm,” 14 hummed, swallowing hard, before cutting off another bite and shoveling it into her mouth.

Raven laughed, the sound finally pulling Clarke from the thoughts she’d been chasing, trying to hold onto, snapping in her mind like spider web threads. If she allowed herself more introspection, she would have felt the tremor of nerves in the pit of her stomach as she waited for Kane to return with his decision about whether Skaikru would accept Lexa’s offer. She would also have felt the added burn in her gut about what that meant for her, as Ambassador, returning to Polis. Returning to Lexa.

But instead, she allowed herself to be pulled into the conversation, easy and unencumbered by the weight of their futures.

“She eats _a ton_ ,” Clarke said. She smiled warmly at 14, at Raven, realizing she had actually forgotten for a moment the unease she felt inside the mountain’s walls as they joked. “So how’d it go today? Did you guys find the mystery machine?”

“Yup. Machine found. But like everything on this crap rock, it’s broken,” Raven answered around a mouthful of food. “But I’ll get it fixed. Made a ton of progress already. And your mom--”

“My mom was there?”

“Yeah. You know how she is,” Raven shrugged, overly dramatic, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “Abby stopped by to make sure we weren’t going to blow up her lab. Turns out Dr. Tsing was communicating with 14’s people in the years before we landed. She had files on her. On them. Really crazy stuff.”

“Only crazy if you think humans wouldn't take their evolutionary destiny into their own hands,” 14 said, her tone switching from their playful banter to the flat, almost robotic tone she used at times. The change was abrupt and Clarke could tell it made Raven uneasy, her eyes quickly falling to her own plate before looking nervously away. She remembered the discomfort of the first few weeks with 14 in the bunker; the way her demeanor would shift in an instant, and Clarke would lie awake in her bed that night replaying conversations, trying to find some pattern to the words or inflection either of them might have used that correlated with that change. It hadn’t been that the shift was scary -- it never seemed emotional like the way some people could go from calm to enraged in a breath. Her intensity never changed, just the temperature of it. But after all this time, it wasn’t unsettling for Clarke. She had simply gotten used to it, had even learned to expect it sometimes.

Clarke waited. It had really only been a few seconds -- not even an uncomfortable pause -- as she watched the cloud pass across 14’s eyes before her gaze drifted up from the table to Raven, seeming to realize something was off. “Of course, I guess it all might seem _crazy_ to aliens,” 14 mumbled offhandedly.

 _Now_ the pause was uncomfortable.

“Aliens...” Raven’s eyebrow ticked upwards, her tone disbelieving as if she was sure she misheard.

14 kept her eyes on her plate as she took another bite. “I mean, it’s not like you were born on Earth, right? You’re from space.” She finally raised her head, attention focused on Raven, her expression piercingly intense. “Aliens.”

And then, the edge of her mouth twitched, her lips pressed together more firmly, and Clarke felt her cheeks pulling into a smile, mirroring Raven’s slow grin.

“Yeah, I suppose. But it doesn't look like I got any cool superpowers out of the deal,” Raven said, grunting as she heaved her leg into a more comfortable position.

“Maybe you just haven’t found them yet,” 14 offered. It sounded so genuine, so real, and Clarke felt a familiar tug of affection towards 14; at how strangely funny and sweet she could be. Still. After everything. After what her people had done to her. After what her people had made her do. It always surprised her how resilient they all were. Fucked up in their own ways, but still here, too.

As much as she hated when her mind made these comparisons, she couldn’t help but think of the softness Lexa showed during their time together in Polis, the way everything about her was inviting, the molecules of air between them vanishing, creating a vacuum, pulling Clarke towards her. She shook her head, trying to fling the memories to the edges of her subconscious like water droplets, leaving her mind dry and free of the Commander.

“What about you, Clarke? How’d your talk with Kane go?” Raven asked.

Clarke sighed, honestly not sure how to answer. “I thought it went well, with Kane, anyway. Bellamy--”

Raven rolled her eyes, sighing loudly. “Don’t worry about him, Clarke. He’s upset, but not with you.” Clarke’s eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. “Well, yeah. Okay. He blames you. But it’s not your fault and deep down he knows it. He was really starting to get over you leaving -- well, not _get over_ , but be less mopey about it -- but then after the whole thing with Gina in Sector 8--”

“Who is Gina?” Clarke asked. “What happened in Sector 8?”

“Oh. Gina is Bellamy’s girlfriend.” Raven answered as if this was common knowledge. “She came down with Alpha station. They started spending a lot of time together after you left, and, well…” She wiggled her eyebrows knowingly. “She used to be in the guard.”

“Used to?”

“Well she went up to Sector 8 with Bellamy and some others while they were doing sweeps to try and find you and she and Monroe got ambushed by Ice Nation scouts. They cut off three of her fingers before we could get to her. Now she can’t hold a rifle so she got reassigned to the garage. She’s taken it pretty well, though; even has this deformed rabbit shadow puppet thing she does for the kids.”

Clarke inhaled deeply, resting her elbows on the table. She let her head drop, cradled in her palms. “Well that explains a lot,” she sighed.

“Right. Because if it’s not his fault, it’s your fault,” Raven said acidly. “Listen. I’m gonna be honest with you, Clarke. Bellamy wasn’t the only one upset when you left.” Raven’s tone implied she counted herself among that contingency. Clarke opened her mouth to defend herself, but quickly thought better of it, pressing her lips together as Raven continued. “But I get it. It took me a while because it’s not like _running away_ is how _I_ deal with my problems. But I get it. And you’re back now. You’re back with more plans for how to save us all. So don’t worry about Bellamy. He can be a little slow about these things, but he’ll get over it because he’ll remember that all of this leftover anger at you is just him trying to hold onto old bullshit. Hell, even Gina didn’t blame you. So just give him a little bit of time to get used to the idea that he couldn’t save you.”

Clarke nodded. She knew Bellamy’s anger at this point wasn’t about her leaving, despite what he might say. He needed to feel like he could help people; to save them. And when she had left, it meant a rejection of him -- or at least how he probably saw it. Her leaving _had_ been selfish. She recognized that. But him taking it personally -- an affront to them and everything they’d built -- was selfish, too, and she hoped they could move past it.

“Speak of the devil,” Raven muttered as they all turned their attention to the bay doors where Kane stood, flanked by Bellamy, surveying the crowd until he caught Clarke’s eye. “Back to it then?” she asked 14.

Clarke watched as Raven and 14 rose from their seats, gathering their plates and cups. Clarke felt the reassuring weight and warmth of 14’s hand on her shoulder, before she followed Raven towards the door.

“How are you feeling?” Kane asked as he and Bellamy lowered themselves into the now vacant seats at her table. “Abby said you were resting earlier.”

Clarke hoped the concern she heard in his voice was a positive sign. “Better, thanks. It’s just been a rough couple of weeks. I guess it's catching up with me.” She avoided making eye contact with Bellamy, even as she could feel his dark, heavy gaze on her. “Though I’d feel even better if you had some good news for me,” she added with a watery smile.

Kane sat back in his seat and scratched at his beard, his eyes giving nothing away. “Well that’s the thing of it, Clarke. I don’t think I can give you good news.” Clarke felt her stomach drop, disappointment rushing through her body like a cold wave. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kane held up a finger. “What I mean is that I’ve thought about our conversation in the control room, and Lexa’s messenger provided me with more details about how joining the coalition would affect us beyond simply being under her protection. And the more I think about it, the more I agree with you that if we stay here, alone and isolated, we will become a target. Lexa herself is in a precarious position. She sees beyond the tribalism of her people as a way to create peace. But it’s a lot easier for a leader to decide to make changes than it is to actually implement those changes on the ground. War is all they’ve ever known. Scarcity is all we’ve ever known. It’s no easy thing to tell people to forget their ways, to expect them to give up who they are.” Clarke nodded. “Which is why I cannot tell them that we’re going to become the 13th Clan.”

“But--”

“When we landed, I admit I had to adjust my way of thinking from how things were on The Ark to how they could be -- needed to be -- on Earth. The air won’t kill us. The ground is solid, ready for crops and this area has plenty of water. With work both in here and outside, we will be able to provide for our people; to prosper. There’s no need to float anyone over a single transgression. Even the punishments I’d thought were more reasonable…” Kane paused, clearly remembering the time he had Abby tied to a post as he shock-lashed her. “There are aspects of our society that we need to think long and hard about why we cling to them. Like I said, I agree with you, Clarke. Joining the coalition is our best chance for survival. But Bellamy brought up a very important point; one that I think is more important than you or I realize.” Kane looked to Bellamy before continuing. “The decision to become the 13th Clan must be one that our people feel is necessary or it will never work. Which is why I’m offering you the opportunity to convince them tomorrow night and we’ll hold a vote.”

Bellamy looked as surprised as Clarke felt. Clearly Kane hadn’t shared his thoughts with him before they came to talk to her. But his shocked expression quickly gave way to admiration, like the faith he had put in Kane was not misplaced.

Clarke smiled, the fear in her chest slowly unspooled, relaxed, and she nodded. “That actually makes sense.” But just as quickly as relief washed over her, a new anxiety began to squeeze. “But what happens if I can’t convince them? What happens if they only see another Alpha station person trying to tell them what to do?”

Kane nodded, understanding. “You convinced me, Clarke. And you’ll convince them.” He smiled again before he and Bellamy stood from the table, moving towards the doors. Clarke watched as Kane leaned in and said something before Bellamy jogged back to her, a folded piece of paper in his hand.

“The messenger brought this for you,” Bellamy said gruffly, handing her a folded piece of paper. He paused as he turned to leave. “For what it’s worth, you convinced me.” Clarke was left alone at the table, her mouth hanging open slightly, too stunned by his admission to respond before he walked quickly back towards Kane. Instead, she smiled to herself, hoping he was right about her.

He usually was.

 

  
As her eyes adjusted to the dim amber glow of the lights along the floorboards, Clarke tried not to think about the people who used to live in this room, sleep in this bed, brush their teeth at the sink and comb their hair in front of the mirror. She tried not to think about how there were two beds in the room. Two beds. Two people who weren’t alive anymore because Clarke had decided _her_ people were worth saving over them.

Someone had gone through and removed everything personal from this room; probably from all the rooms. A single shiver passed through her body and she pulled the blanket around herself a little tighter.

The letter Bellamy had given her lay unopened on the small table next to her bed, the wax seal holding it closed cast amorphous shadows along the paper, making it look like it had been soaked in ink, in nightblood. Clarke sighed, quietly reaching to turn on the small bedside lamp. The click of the switch sounded loud against the low hum of electricity in the room. She glanced at 14 to make sure she hadn’t woken her. She still breathed heavily, evenly. Her grey hair was flipped over the top of her head, the infinity tattoo above her ear exposed, matching the indentation pressed into the letter’s wax seal.

Clarke slid her finger along the seam, breaking it open as quietly as possible. Inside was a single page of text, the handwriting neat, utilitarian.  


_The first night I spent in Polis as a child, I cried myself to sleep. I didn’t cry because I missed my family. I knew that as a natblida, it was my sacred duty to enter the conclave, to prove I was worthy to be selected by the spirit of the Commander. I cried because on that first day, the other novitiates had given me the name Heda Leda. Before the nightblood scouts found me, I had worked in my family’s tannery and the stench of it clung to my body for weeks after arriving in Polis. The name meant Commander Leather._

_The next morning at training, one of the soldiers pulled me aside and told me that we do not choose our names, but we can choose whether they define us. If I cried, then I accepted their choice. So I stopped crying. The name never faded, but the pain it caused me did._

_It was not the last piece of advice Gustus ever gave me, but it is the one I remember most vividly._

_I know the tears of a child do not compare to the pain you have felt in the months since the fall of the mountain men, and I do not mean to lessen what you feel._

_I have thought much about the time we spent together in Polis and while I still believe that you will always be drawn down the path of leadership, I also know the aching desire to leave one’s past decisions behind._

_Each clan contributes to the coalition according to their strengths, and I believe Skaikru’s role should be to teach all of our people the advanced skills of your healers. My proposal to you is this: if you do not wish to return to Polis to serve as ambassador, perhaps you would consider a similar role in organizing the teaching of other clan healers with your own. In time, the people might give you a new name._

_Every choice we make has it’s own price._

_There is no fate but what we make for ourselves._

 

_And know that whatever you choose, you will always be welcome in Polis._

_Both of you._

  


_ste yuj._

_L_

 

Clarke re-read the letter, each time imagining Lexa in her room, hunched over a table, the sound of the ink being scratched into paper accompanying the pops and hisses of candles. Lexa had given her a way out, a way she could still be involved and lead her people, but a way that would shield her from the painful reminder of who she was and what she represented to the Grounders. It came at the price (or benefit?) of not having to remain in Polis, not having to face Lexa.

If that was truly what she wanted, then why did she feel this twisting, clenching hesitation in her gut? Did it _really_ matter to her that she was Wanheda? How many years would it take before Clarke believed the lie she’d tell herself if she never returned or guilt at the reason she might choose to stay?

She lifted shaky fingertips to her lips, wondering if they ever kissed again, if it would feel like that first time. Intense. Inevitable. The way a small, tender green shoot will forever reach towards the sky, no matter the rain and wind and scorching sun that try to deny it.

Clarke didn’t realize she had been crying until a single tear fell on the paper, the drop of liquid spreading, soaking into the sheet. She looked down at the page through blurred vision, noticing not the discoloration from her own tear, but a different spot, long since dried, where the ink had leaked beyond the careful lines of text, faded as it had mingled with water.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I guess it’s not going to--” 14’s words were cut off immediately as her eyes went unfocused, her mouth hanging open slightly. It was as if she were another machine herself, shut down and without power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well shit, you guys. This one took a while to write but it's a bit longer than normal so hopefully you'll forgive me.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who kudos and comments -- even to the little check-ins a few weeks later wondering where the next chapter is. Keeps me motivated to know there are still a few of you reading. :)
> 
> Next up:   
> Clarke deals with her feelings in a very Clarke way.

“How much do you need?”

“50cc’s should be enough.”

Abby pulled at the rubber tubing wrapped tightly around Raven’s bicep. She could feel her blood slow, the pressure building with each pulsing beat from her heart. She watched as the veins in her hand began to swell, rising to the surface like worms after a rainstorm. 

“You don’t have to do this. I’m sure we can find someone else.” 14’s voice pulled her attention away from her hand.

“Who? You really think we’re gonna get a lot of takers if we start asking for blood donations in this place?” Raven rolled her eyes up to the ceiling dramatically. “It’s fine. Weird, but fine. I--” She winced as Abby pushed the needle into her skin.

“Sorry.” Abby muttered, one hand keeping the needle in place, the other holding a vial filling rapidly with gurgling red blood. Raven looked back towards 14, feeling the beginnings of sweat start to prickle her skin, her heart start to race. She hated needles. 

“So how much left is there to do?” 14 asked casually, her eyes darting from Raven’s eyes to Abby’s hands and back again. 

“The blood input is all set and the programming module just needs a few more connections and load tests. Not long. But there are some processors that are beyond repair. We can still use the machine, it just might take longer to compile the programming. You get all of your code changes ready?”

14 studied her for a long moment. Raven felt a flush come to her skin, unconvinced it was entirely due to the thin metal tube protruding from the crook of her elbow. “I think so,” 14 answered noncommittally, suddenly not meeting her eyes.

While Raven knew in her gut there was more that 14 wasn’t saying, she had a strange feeling it had less to do with her and more to do with the slight distance she’d begun to sense between 14 and Clarke; specifically an uneasiness on 14’s part that, while she didn’t know 14 particularly well, seemed unusual. “What time is your speech?” Raven turned towards Clarke who had been leaning against the doorway, her arms held across her chest, eyes unfocused as she stared into some unseen abyss below the floor. She got no response. “Earth to Clarke!” Raven snapped her fingers and watched as the sharp sound echoing in the small room pulled Clarke out of her stupor. 

“What? Sorry.” Clarke shook her head. “Later this afternoon.” She pulled at a loose string unravelling at the hem of her shirt. “Actually, I was wondering if you needed me here… I’m somehow supposed to convince a room full of Arkers that the person who abandoned us to die here a few months ago is now our best shot at avoiding an all-out war. Might be good to work out what exactly I’m going to say.” 

“Well, you’ve got my vote.” Raven smiled. “And I think we can handle things down here without you.” As if to punctuate her sentence, Abby snapped the rubber tourniquet from Raven’s arm and pressed a small bit of gauze to the drop of blood blooming from where the needle once was.

“I need to go through all the new inventory and get the rest of the lab set up with Jackson. Will you need me for--” Abby gestured to the vial of Raven’s blood resting on a stainless steel tray. 

“No. I think ingestion should be the test.” 14 nodded, her eyes sliding to Raven for a moment as if to check her reaction. For her part, Raven was just trying to think of the science behind what they were about to do and not the glass tube full of blood that had, only moments ago, been speeding through the network of veins and arteries within her body. It was probably still warm.

Abby gathered her supplies, moving the vials of Raven and 14’s blood to a different tray before leaving the room. Raven watched as Clarke pushed herself away from the door, before she paused, her blue eyes finding Raven’s dark brown.

“Thank you. For helping with all of this.” Clarke lifted her hand, gesturing around the small room ”For helping 14.” She looked tired, Raven thought, feeling a brief wash of gratitude that the weight of the world didn’t rest on her shoulders. She liked being important-adjacent. But calling the shots? That was above her pay-grade. 

“It’s been a weirdly fun project,” Raven admitted. Pouring over someone’s work who she had thought simply evil had given way to begrudging respect for Dr. Tsing’s intellect. Apart from the hasty execution of the physical device, the science behind it was brilliant. The injection module was ready for 14 to fill with her blood and insert it into the machine to be read. 14 would then change the programming and they would try to use what appeared to be a modified radio frequency transmitter to update the code wirelessly to 14’s brain stem. That part of the process had seemed impossible until 14 had shown her the small scar at the back of her neck, sure that whatever they had done to her the last time she was in captivity had meant she had the technology necessary for a wireless update. 

Raven shivered, glad that they were done with needles for the day.

“And she hasn’t even been that axe-murdery.” Raven winked at Clarke, grinning as she saw a flash of 14’s white teeth out of the corner of her eye. 

Clarke seemed to allow herself to smile then; it wasn’t a toothy grin, but then again, with Clarke, it never was. But her shoulders relaxed slightly, the weight of the world becoming just a little less heavy, even for a moment, as Raven joked with her. “I’ll see you guys later?”

Raven nodded and watched as 14 crossed the room, stopping close to where Clarke stood near the doorway. They looked at each other for a long moment, long enough that Raven began to feel like she was intruding. When 14 spoke, it was too quiet for Raven to hear, but Clarke nodded, her features hardening into resolve. With another quick glance at Raven, she turned and walked out the door.

 

Clarke paced outside the doorway of the Mess Hall. She could hear Kane’s voice through the swinging door, the words muffled into incoherence, but still sounding strong and commanding. Her palms felt sticky, almost slick as she clenched and unclenched her fists, the dampness making the ridges of her skin stand out as her fingertips rubbed together. 

She had spent all afternoon crafting what she wanted to say; how she could convince a group of people -- most of whom had only seen the death and violence of the Grounders -- to join with them in peace. 

The nerves she felt -- the squirming in her gut, the tremble of adrenaline in her arms and legs -- reminded her of when she stood outside the throne room in Polis, waiting to be called in, to kneel before the Commander. How much had changed in just a few weeks. The rage she felt when the sack had been pulled from her eyes, sunlight making her pupils sting as they constricted rapidly, bringing Lexa’s face into focus. The days she had spent in her room -- her prison -- sure she would use the next opportunity to cover the stone floor in the the inky blood of the Commander. 

And then she hadn’t.

She had pulled back her blade from soft skin of Lexa’s neck. She had pulled back her rage and seething hatred like a curtain, exposing the raw truth beneath: she could never kill her, not as she looked into those sea-green eyes and imagined them fading to dull stone as the light left them, not as she felt that warm pulse of life below her skin’s surface. 

In that speck of time when the artery beneath her fingertips pressed upward, swelling with fluid, she had felt relief in not having to once again scrub blood from her hands, wondering if one day she would simply scrub them too hard, dig away the muscle and tendons until there was only bone beneath. Her heart had risen, for just a moment, from the depths of where it sank, weighed down by corpses and the grasping hands of the living. 

Hope was a strange sensation. 

But then she had felt something unexpected: guilt. 

The weeks she’d spent in the bunker, being trained by 14, had been a waste of time. She had wasted 14’s time, more specifically. She had gotten another person mixed up in her shit. It felt disrespectful, like she had used 14, but was too much of a coward to follow through. She was weak. Lexa made her--

Clarke shook her head, scolding herself. 

She needed to stay focused. Her people’s survival was far more important than whatever thoughts she might have about Lexa. Hell, it was Lexa who had taught her that lesson. And she didn’t want to think about what might happen to them if they refused Lexa’s offer of protection. She knew -- she knew -- Lexa would not attack them. As certain as she was in Lexa’s actions, she felt an equal and opposite level of dread at what might happen to Lexa’s position of power if she didn’t bring Skaikru (and their medicine and guns) to her side. 

But even if she managed to convince her people to join the coalition, she still hadn’t told 14 about the letter, about her new opportunity. Their opportunity? Clarke realized she had no idea if 14 would even stay with her, regardless of where she went. Assuming she was able to unbind her cells from Clarke’s, what reason was there for her to stay? They had never discussed the… flexible… boundaries of their friendship, but 14 had never given any indication that she wanted anything more, nor had she ever seemed like she needed convincing when more did happen. She had simply always felt like a steady presence, a rock who could weather Clarke’s storms. But rocks eventually turn to sand and now Clarke wondered if she even had any right to ask her to stay.

Ever since 14 had stepped from the shadowed stairwell of Polis tower after staying to speak with Lexa, a streak of blood visible across her chest, she had seemed distracted, preoccupied. Even when Clarke had asked about the blood, asked what the hell had happened on the roof, 14 had waved her off, muttering that it was nothing. Clarke’s mind had gone wild with speculation, but that curiosity had soon been replaced by the anxiety of her present task. 

Still, she made a mental note to talk to 14 about the letter. About everything. 

The door swung open, startling Clarke from her thoughts. Inside she could hear the low murmur of a crowd waiting restlessly. She looked into Bellamy’s eyes, his head poking around the frame, his hand splayed against the door panel as he held it open.

“You ready?” Bellamy asked, stepping aside to make room for her. “You got this,” he added, the gruffness in his voice tempered by the small, lopsided smile he gave her. She nodded once, not feeling at all ready, but always buoyed by his confidence in her as she walked past him and into the room.

 

Raven swallowed the gasp in her throat as she walked back towards the hidden lab room. She was really going to need to come up with a better way to get around these hallways, the pain in her leg seemed to cut through her mental defenses earlier and earlier as her responsibilities could require her to cover more than a mile of corridors before the day was over. She was exhausted, but pushed onward, knowing that a respite was only a few dozen yards away.

When she’d left the room, 14 had just put the vial of her blood into the machine to begin the sequencing, brushing off Raven’s invitation to take a break and come to the mess hall with her, saying she wanted to watch the code processing to make sure there were no errors.

But as Raven dragged her leg along, turning the last corner until the room was in sight, she heard low murmuring coming from the open doorway.

“No. No no no...” The sound of 14’s fist hitting the desk echoed into the hallway.

“Did you break it?” Raven asked, pointing her chin at the metal box and falling heavily into her chair. She used the foot of her good leg to push off the floor and wheeled herself to where 14 sat, the muscles in her jaw bouncing visibly in frustration. “I told you not to break it,” Raven teased, her attempt at humor only earned her a quick glance from 14 before she resumed staring angrily at the screen in front of her. “Hey.” Raven changed her tone, softening, hoping it has an effect on 14. “Hey. What’s up?” 

“It’s nothing,” 14 answered through her teeth. “It’s…” she paused, finally looking at Raven like she’s about to confess, to let Raven see beneath another layer, but the look was fleeting. “It’s nothing. The programming is done. We can begin the data transfer back.” She reached for the small metal disk centered in the middle of a short leather belt, a long wire leading back to the computer terminal at its base. The pieces of the metal buckle clanged together like a musical shackle as 14 strapped it around her neck, aligning the disc with the scar along her vertebrae. “Everything is already loaded. I don’t know how conscious I’ll be so I’ll need you to start the program after the initialization tests are finished.” 

She seemed eerily calm for someone about to -- theoretically -- reprogram their cells. But Raven was also sure she could feel the electric undercurrent of agitation under the surface. Something was off. “Do you want me to radio for Abby or Clarke?” Raven asked, unable to miss the way 14’s jaw ticked quickly at the mention of Clarke. She shook her head once.

“They won’t be able to do anything if something goes wrong. You built this machine,” 14 turned to face her, eyes bloodshot from staring at the screen for so many hours. The red and white made the greys of her irises look somehow even more desaturated of color. “So you’re my best chance.”

Raven nodded. She would personally feel more comfortable with Abby or Clarke or someone else to help, but she’s also been a part of enough “off the books” missions to understand 14’s secrecy. “Okay. But not until you tell me what’s going on.”

14’s jaw muscles bounced rapidly for a few seconds. Raven crossed her arms across her chest in silent reply. 

“Have you ever been in love?”

Raven felt so startled by the question, the truth jumped to her lips, slipping out quietly without her permission. “Yes.”

She would swear the brief press of 14’s lips together was a small smile. 

“So, then, you remember the way it felt as it happened? The excitement. The way just the thought of them could make you…” She trailed off and Raven was almost grateful, keenly aware of the heat she felt in her cheeks. “Chemicals. All of it. Dopamine for pleasure. Serotonin for desire, distraction. Adrenaline for the rush. The thing is, whether it’s a blade pushed into your gut or a lover's’ fingertips sliding underneath your shirt, touching your skin for the first time, your body sets your heart racing just the same. If the chemicals are released, the body responds.” Raven nodded hesitantly, still not sure where this conversation was going. It had certainly taken an abrupt turn she hadn’t expected. 14 was silent for a long moment, raising her hand to trace the along the scar at her neck but feeling the metal disc instead. Her arm fell heavily into her lap. “There was another person in contact with Dr. Tsing and my people.”

The abrupt change in topic left Raven sputtering. “What? Who?”

“I don’t know. A woman? A group?” 14 swiveled her chair and pointed to the screen; instead of lines of code, Raven saw paragraphs of text. She reached out and flicked her finger across the screen, scrolling through what looked like hundreds -- thousands -- of communications. “The messages were only signed A-L-I-E, so I’ve just been calling her ‘ALIE’ in my head. But the neural interface design came from that lab. The plans she uploaded allows for a feedback loop between the nanotech and the brain stem through a subdermal chip. That’s what they did to me when I was taken back to the lab. That’s why I woke up with a line of staples along the back of my neck. My people used those schematics and put one in me after they caught me with Clarke.”

“But why? Why bring you back to give you new tech after they already tried to kill you?”

“I think--” 14 paused, visibly deciding to start her thoughts elsewhere. “We each -- the ones like me -- had a handler. Someone non-engineered who grew up with us, older by a few years. They were our primary observers, trained with us, went on missions with us. They were our shadows. When our generation was destroyed, they would help lead the next group of scientists forward with a new batch of test subjects. They were also supposed to sacrifice themselves if it meant saving us. We were to kill them if we ever needed their blood to survive.”

Raven swallowed hard, her mind flashing across a hill at night, the landscape dotted by torches lit against the black treeline. She remembered watching Clarke approach Finn, almost silhouettes save for the glow around Clarke’s light hair. Raven could see their embrace, see their trembling anguish even at such a distance because she felt it, too. She wanted to be the one to hug Finn, offer comfort against the bindings at his wrist, to be his savior as he had been hers for so many years. She also remembered seeing Clarke pull away, the torchlight making the thick red blood look like engine oil shining in the darkness. Raven suddenly realized it wasn’t until this moment with 14 that she truly forgave Clarke in her heart for killing Finn. 14 had gone her whole life knowing she might have to kill the person she was closest to in the world. And Raven had blamed Clarke for doing the same, for not finding a way out, a way to save him. But she had. In the only move they had left to save their people, Clarke had damned herself to save all of them and him.

Raven blinked away tears, glad that 14 was looking at the monitors again. “Wait. What does this have to do with Clarke?”

“Nothing,” 14 answered. “Not yet,” she amended. “We were also forbidden from giving our blood to anyone, especially our handlers. But on a mission, things went… badly. November and I were both injured, and none of theirs remained for me to use. November did her job and offered me her blood, her life. I took enough to heal, enough to get back home, but I couldn’t let her die for me. Even if we could have stopped the bleeding, the wound on her arm would have become infected and killed her before we could make it home. So I used my blood to heal her.” She paused again and Raven, for lacking of anywhere else to look that wasn’t 14’s eyes, let her focus drift to the glint of the metal buckle around 14’s neck, the way it bobbed up and down slightly as she swallowed. “Those chemicals I mentioned, they’re followed by others, as you’ve probably felt. Ones that are stronger, that make us choose differently than we might if we hadn’t known the secret heartbeat of another person. We both knew the consequences. Of me saving her. Of us saving each other in that place. What we meant to each other and the things we had done. Breathy promises made in darkened stairwells. Everything that makes it all feel so… inevitable.” Raven swallowed as 14 paused. It was as if her body, too, was remembering the feeling of first falling in love with Finn. She could almost feel the cold maintenance room floor against her back, their quiet voices coming in gusts between panting breaths. Raven smiled. The reminiscing softness in 14’s voice suddenly took on a steely quality to it as she continued. “One of us had to die by the other’s hand or they would kill us both. But when it came time, she wouldn’t kill me and I couldn’t kill her. So they made the choice for us and dragged her away. They tortured me and left me to die in the woods.”

“Fuck,” Raven muttered to herself, suddenly realising she’d said it aloud. “Sorry.” 14’s eyes were kind, sad. Raven’s heart broke for her thinking about how the love that she had shared with this November girl was probably some of the only kindness she’d ever experienced growing up as a lab subject. 

“Everything I’ve told you so far Clarke is aware of. What I’m about to tell you, I have not shared with her.” 14 paused, waiting for Raven’s solemn nod before she continued. “The chip has a feedback loop that extends outside the body over a small number of meters. Extreme chemical surges detected by my tech outside of my body are transmitted to the chip and back to my brain. So if someone is terrified or excited or--”

“You feel it, too?” Raven asked.

“Not the emotion, the reason behind it, no. But a small trickle of the chemicals are released. Adrenaline, cortisol, others. It was confusing the first time I realized what it was. With Clarke.”

“Oh.” Raven’s eyebrows shot up, the pieces all falling into place. “That seems… invasive.”

“I think it was an unintentional side effect, probably why we were always forbidden from sharing our blood. Or maybe just an iteration of a prototype. I really can’t say. Everything points to being able to manipulate what the body perceives versus what the mind believes to be real,” 14 said, shaking her head and shrugging. “I’d hoped to disable that functionality. The… frustration that you heard was me realizing unequivocally that it cannot be done.”

“So you have to tell Clarke,” Raven said as if this was obvious.

“What? That as long as I’m around her, the things she feels aren’t private? It’s not hard to guess what certain rushes in your blood are caused by when you’re in the same room.”

“Given how close you guys are, I’m sure that she’ll be understanding. But you need to tell her. She deserves to know. Complications and all. Trust me.” Raven ignored the strange dropping feeling in her gut as she said those words. She told herself she just didn’t want to get tangled up in Clarke’s love life -- even from the outside -- again.

“What I have right now with Clarke is simple and… uncomplicated. Her heart’s complications lie elsewhere,” 14 replied vaguely. 

Raven opened her mouth to ask another question.

“Hey.” Clarke’s voice cut through the momentary pause and Raven’s insides went ice cold wondering how much she’d heard. If Clarke had overheard anything, her face betrayed nothing and Raven exhaled quietly in relief. The feeling of chill in her blood was replaced by a soothing rush of warmth and safety and she wondered how much of that 14 would have been able to feel if she had some of the nanotech inside of her.

“How’s it looking?” Raven asked, hoping Clarke didn’t hear how her voice pitched up unnaturally, trying to project calm and sure she was failing miserably. 

“Don’t know yet. Kane said he would radio when the final tally was in. But nobody booed or threw anything at me so I guess we can be cautiously optimistic,” Clarke replied dryly. She walked further into the room, her eyes visibly widening as she caught sight of the collar around 14’s neck and the cord extending into the machine from the back of her neck. “Did you already do it?”

“Just about to get started,” 14 answered, leaning back in her chair. 

“Is it dangerous? Will it hurt?” Clarke asked, unmasked concern in her voice. Regardless of her “complicated heart,” there was some heart definitely left over for 14, Raven thought. 

“We don’t know.” Raven swiveled her chair towards the keyboard, hovering her hands over the keys. “Ready.”

“How long will it take?”

“We don’t know,” 14 repeated Raven’s words just as Raven turned her head to see 14 lifting her arms and slowly placing them on the armrest, her fingers hanging limply over the edge. She seemed relaxed, almost calm, but Raven was sure she could see apprehension in her grey eyes. 

Clarke reached forward, her fingertips brushing, then entwining gently with 14’s before breaking apart like two tree branches bumping into one another for a quick embrace before parting again as the breeze shifted. “You ready?”

14 nodded.

They both turned to face Raven and Raven turned back to the screen, pressing her finger to the big red button.

Nothing happened.

There was no sound, no whirring of parts or beeping or anything.

“I guess it’s not going to--” 14’s words were cut off immediately as her eyes went unfocused, her mouth hanging open slightly. It was as if she were another machine herself, shut down and without power. 

Clarke waved her hand in front of 14’s eyes, but there was no response.

“Fuck. Is she still breathing?” Raven asked, panic starting to rise in her voice.

Clarke brought her fingertips to rest on 14’s wrist. “Her heart is still beating.” She grabbed a small metal tray from the table and held it under 14’s nose. She and Raven watched the condensation form and fade from 14’s even breaths. “Should we unplug it?”

“The screen says the code update is running. It’s never a good idea to shut down a computer mid-process. Who knows what data we might lose.”

“You mean her?”

“Maybe.”

Clarke nodded solemnly, her fingers still wrapped gently around 14’s wrist. The minutes ticked by as they sat and watched, occasionally Raven’s eyes would find 14’s again, still staring a million miles away, unseeing. 

The beep from the machine startled them both and not a second later, 14’s next breath came in a loud gasp as if finally finding the surface after being trapped under water. She looked around the room, between Clarke and Raven, taking in their shocked expressions.

“Did I fall asleep?”

Clarke recovered first. “Just for a minute,” she answered quietly, smiling. “How do you feel?”

“Tingly.” 14 stretched her arms in front of her, flexing her fingers like she might shoot electricity out of them. She looked pointedly at the vial of Raven’s blood lying on the desk. Raven reached for it and handed it to 14. The room again fell into silence as 14 held the glass tube, awkwardly looking between Clarke and Raven. She used her thumbs to pop off the lid and held the vial up to her nose, inhaling cautiously. “Well, it doesn’t smell bad.”

“Should it? What does blood smell like to you?” Raven asked, curious especially since this was her blood they were talking about.

“After they changed my code, everyone’s blood smelled wrong. Rancid. But yours smells similar to Clarke’s now. Like Skaikru.”

“We have a smell?” Clarke asked.

“And taste,” 14 answered. “I think it’s the divergence of people for a hundred years. Where you lived. What you ate. Who you bred with.” 14 shrugged and brought the tube to her lips. She tilted her head back and poured the thick, burgundy liquid into her mouth. 

Almost immediately, she made a small gagging sound, coughing and grimacing, her bared teeth stained red, eyes squeezed shut.

“Shit. It didn’t work.” Clarke sighed, defeated. But 14 held up her hand, waving her off.

“No. It’s just--” 14 ran her tongue across her teeth and swallowed hard again, forcing down the last bit that was in her mouth. “It’s not very good cold.” She smiled weakly, almost embarrassed.

Raven laughed, relief flooding through her and soon Clarke and even 14 joined in. The ridiculousness of the situation had finally reached a tipping point, leaving them all giddy.

Just as their laughter died down, the silence of the room was again interrupted, this time by the crackling static of the radio at Clarke’s hip.

“Clarke? Come in.” Kane’s voice filled the room.

Clarke unclipped the device from her pants and held it to her lips. “I’m in the medical bay. Are all the votes counted?”

“They are.”

“And?”

“You’ll have some good news to bring back to Polis.” Raven could hear Kane smiling through the airwaves and was sure that the background noise was the sound of people shouting and laughing; someone yelled for Kane to have a drink. 

“I guess the housewarming party is already starting?” Clarke asked into the radio, the small tug of a smile at her lips.

“Yes, though I’d like to talk to you about next steps with Lexa. See you in a few minutes,” Kane responded before the radio went quiet again.

They sat for a moment in silence, each quietly allowing themselves to feel the cool, welcome sensation of reprieve from the normal disappointments their earthly lives seemed to attract with alarming consistency. 

“So I guess I should…” Clarke trailed off, glancing towards the door. “Unless you need me to…”

“No no,” Raven stammered quickly, each of them knowing the unspoken implication that it was going to take Raven a lot longer to make it to the party than Clarke. “I still have some cleanup to do down here.”

Raven turned and busied herself with winding up the various cables and making sure the different components were shutting down properly. She turned at the sound of the buckle around 14’s neck being unfastened. 

“I’ll see you there?” 14 asked and Clarke nodded, distracted, her mind clearly already thinking ahead to her conversation with Kane.

 

As they walked along the hallway towards the elevators that would take them to the mess hall, Raven couldn’t help but notice the way 14 walked beside her. She’d been dragging her injured leg alongside walks with other people for enough months to be keenly aware of the way they would always forget her injury, finding themselves several paces ahead. They always stopped, apologetic looks across their faces and Raven always pretended not to notice their barely hidden impatience tinged with guilt, telling them to go ahead without her or apologizing for her creeping pace. 

But walking with 14, she was suddenly met with the realization that she couldn’t see 14 ahead of her. Ever. in fact, she almost had to turn her head to find 14 strolling alongside her, nearly half a pace behind. 

And between the pain in her leg and the feeling of someone not leaving her behind, Raven found herself blinking back stubborn tears, angry that something so simple was having such an effect on her. 

A particularly violent jolt of pain made her bite the inside of her cheek so hard she was surprised not to taste the metallic saltiness of blood. 

“So... what does it taste like?” Raven asked, grimacing as she tried to distract herself from the pain. 

14 hummed in question, effortlessly slowing her pace to again match Raven’s.

“Blood.”

“You’ve never tasted blood before?” 14 turned, her head tilted slightly in question.

“Of course I have,” Raven huffed. “I’m just curious how it tastes to someone who… likes it?”

14’s mouth spread into a slow, wide grin. She looked predatory, almost scary. Almost. Raven was beginning to appreciate 14’s sardonic sense of humor. 

Raven pursed her lips and raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed, earning her a quick chuckle. 

“When I was still a child, they separated us from our handlers, from each other, and sent us into the woods to survive, alone, for a month. It was the middle of winter, the ground covered in snow. I ate what I could find, digging my numb fingers under fallen logs to eat frozen grubs, mosses, anything. Despite the tests on us in the lab, I don’t think I’d ever experienced the true feeling of despair as I did those nights, shivering uncontrollably, watching drops of blood fall from my nose and splash into the white snowfall. I was terrified that I was dying. Well, not terrified of death, but of not knowing what was causing me to bleed.” 14 looked ahead, down the hallway, her eyes focused on gaps in the trees of her memory. “One morning, I was checking my traps and heard the screeching cries of a rabbit. I can’t tell you the exquisite feeling of joy at knowing I was going to eat. The tech requires a lot of energy -- calories -- so the grubs and mosses and occasional bird I’d managed to catch were like trying to build a city on sand, the ocean water taking what it wanted, barely leaving anything behind. I was starving, but I’d been hungry before. This felt like a new kind of weakness, like no matter how much moss and worms I ate, I would never be strong again. I remember cleaning the rabbit, and even though I’d already taken its blood, the heart and liver… I couldn’t wait until cooking it to eat them.” 14 paused and Raven schooled her expression, hoping 14 hadn’t seen the revulsion at hearing about her eating raw organ meat. She had, but thankfully, 14 only smirked at her squeamishness before continuing. “For what it’s worth, I don’t actually like liver or heart. But in that moment, nothing had ever tasted so divine. It wasn’t until we were finally back to the lab that I found out I had a severe iron deficiency. My mind must have subconsciously made me crave the liver and heart because they’re so high in the nutrients I was lacking.”

Raven puffed air out her nose, wondering if the dissatisfaction Skaikru felt about food aboard the Ark never feeling quite satisfying had anything to do with lacking something the body was craving. She chuckled realizing the word she was looking for was flavor. 

“So to answer your question, blood tastes like blood to me, but the technology in me makes it seem much more appealing than it does to you.”

“Does it taste different, too? Like how you said each clan’s blood smells different?”

“You want to know what you taste like?” 14 asked quietly as they came to a stop outside the mess hall doors. Her grey eyes didn’t waver and Raven felt heat slowly radiating from her neck as it crept upward into her cheeks. She swallowed, not trusting her voice not to tremble, and nodded. 14 blinked slowly, her eyes soft and warm when she opened them again. “You taste like the sky.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'her' was implied, and Clarke hated 14 for it.
> 
> No. She hated herself, she corrected.
> 
> But her feelings for 14 in this moment weren’t far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for how bad I am at writing *the sex*... hopefully it's not *too* terrible though.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and always thank you for your comments and kudos. 
> 
> Trying not to sound to thirsty over here, but they do make the whole process a lot more fun.

The heels of Clarke’s boots drummed lightly against the large crate, her legs dangling off the edge as she flexed her thighs, then relaxed them, letting gravity swing her legs backwards and into the box’s metal sides, creating a low thud she could feel more than hear. The revelry around her was growing in intensity; laughter and shouting amplified by drinks drained and refilled. 

She looked around the room at her people -- the ones who’d taken their first breath of real air with her and the ones who had nearly died to join them -- and imagined them years from now, still stuck in this place, all right angled rooms and echoing hallways. It was The Ark, all over again; a sterile warren of boxes, every sensation becoming stale and rote, stimuli recycled from generation to generation. 

It was the antithesis of the dilapidated buildings in Polis. Their crumbling walls and broken windows let the earth inside, sunshine and wind and rain, bringing with them the smells and tastes and sounds of the world around them. Something as simple as air, a breeze, could turn suddenly chill or her skin could be soothed by the sun oozing warmth as it peeked out again from behind clouds.\

And her people had chosen  _ this _ ; had chosen to be able to explore all the natural world had to offer them, with its infinite and unimagined sensations. 

Clarke smiled to herself, letting her eyes drift closed, allowing her mind to wander amid the growing din around her. 

_ It was peaceful, in the forest, walking shoulder to shoulder, their steps slowly falling into sync. Clarke’s eyes followed the dots of dappled sunlight as they skittered and sprung between the fallen leaves, hiding behind rocks and jumping out from the brush. She didn’t care where Lexa was leading them; she could stay among these trees forever. _

_ Clarke wondered if Lexa felt this way about the forest, or if growing up here had made it take on a more mundane, if still pleasant, quality. She turned to look at her, whatever words she had planned died on her parted lips as she found green eyes, even more brilliant than the lush vegetation around them, already watching her with a gentle curiosity that made her heart stutter, threatening to stop altogether. The moment stretched on like a soft breeze until-- _

“So, I guess congratulations are in order?”

Clarke blinked rapidly, the grey walls almost painful against the fading green in her mind. “I'm sorry?” she stuttered. Jasper's glassy brown eyes swam into focus, the rest of him joining after. Clarke noticed Jasper’s hair was short, his facial hair left unkempt and patchy. He looked… rough. 

“I think we’re past all of this  _ apology _ and  _ forgiveness  _ stuff don’t you, Clarke?” Jasper shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like you need the approval of us  _ little people _ now that you've already gotten what you've wanted. It’s amazing, really. The mental gymnastics of you people… and then tricking everyone else into falling for your act?” Jasper drawled. She could smell the alcohol on him as he swayed gently towards her. “You murder hundreds of people-- _ twice _ \--disappear for three months, come back, and convince everyone here to join the savages who have been trying to kill us since we got here--”

“ _ They’re not savages _ ,” Clarke interrupted through gritted teeth. She hated that  _ this _ was the first real thing she said to Jasper after so long apart.

Jasper appeared to not have heard her as he continued, his tone taking on an unnerving false warmth as he lifted his cup in a mocking toast. “That’s some Jaha-level shit. Bravo.” He tilted his head back, nearly draining his cup. When he met her eyes again she could see the anger in them taking control over his pain like blood dripping into a bowl of water, tinting the clarity with darkness. “I understand now that you’re exactly like them. Exactly like him; like Jaha, like your mother, like all of them who floated our parents and sent us down here to die, always telling us it was for some  _ greater good. _ What good has there been since we landed?”

He lurched forward, his mouth open like he had more to say but before he could reach her, he grunted, a strong hand at his chest, pushing him back onto his heels. For a moment, he looked confused until he realized it was Bellamy holding him back. His eyes darkened, the glistening tears of betrayal at their edges. “Of course it’s you,” he sneered before wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.

“We’re not doing this right now, Jasper.” Bellamy’s low voice carried through the chatter around them. “Take a walk.” 

Jasper looked like he was going to say something, bitterness seeping out of him like sweat through his pores. He jerked himself backwards and out of Bellamy’s grasp, sloshing the last few drops from his cup onto Clarke’s leg, leaving dark spots on fabric of her pants like blood seeping from a wound.

They watched him walk away, his gait somehow both loose with alcohol and compressed under the weight of his desperation.

“He’s got his good days and bad days,” Bellamy said, leaning against the crate next to Clarke’s legs. He handed her a cup and Clarke could smell the musky, sharp tang of alcohol. She took a sip and grimaced at the harshness. She took another.

“And what’s today?” Clarke asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Somewhere in the middle.” 

Bellamy took a long swig from his own cup and Clarke followed his lead.

Everything Jasper had said about her she’d already thought herself and worse. But it still cut, still made her feel that swooping lurch of self loathing, still made her doubt her choices, doubt where she’d placed her trust. She needed to think about something else. “Have you heard from him at all? Jaha?” she asked, trying to sound less rattled by Jasper’s words than she felt.

“Nope.” Bellamy took another sip, exhaling loudly against the burn of the alcohol. “He, Murphy, and a couple others took off to find that City of Light place. Lincoln says it’s supposed to be a paradise, but nobody seems to know anything about it other than rumors.”

Clarke nodded solemnly and took a long, slow pull from her cup. She pictured their faces as she swallowed, a silent toast to them, wherever their bodies probably lay. The alcohol hardly burned anymore.

Bellamy and Clarke watched the crowd around them, some dancing, some shouting, many both. Cheeks red, skin flushed, it was like watching a metamorphosis unfold; hardness borne of living in the brutality of space was melting into soft, beautiful humanity as more drinks were poured, more songs danced and more stories told. Even though each and every one of them knew that there would always be hardship ahead, it was as if they had all agreed that for this night, they could revel in their temporary reprieve, as they joined hands and pushed back the dawn’s promise of tomorrow. Clarke smiled, allowing herself to forget her anxiety as she started to feel the heat from her drink spreading through her abdomen before it settled low in her belly. 

“Do you trust her?” Bellamy finally asked after they’d been quiet for several minutes. “Do you trust Lexa to hold this peace?”

“I do,” Clarke answered truthfully. “She’s…” Clarke trailed off, not exactly sure what she wanted to say. She’s strong? She’s wise? Kind? Loyal? Stubborn? Fiercely protective? Her mind wandered with all the things she thought Lexa was, realizing the reason for all of this, all of her trust in Lexa was all a result of the time they had spent together in Polis, getting to know one another outside of their roles as leaders of their people. On the outside, she was all hard edges, stark highlights and shadows, cool and smooth like glass. But in the quiet moments, that aloofness shed like her Commander’s sash, she emerged with a quiet softness and humor, warmth and depth. She was her  _ friend _ . She was… Clarke felt her eyes unfocus for a moment, the faces around her blurring until they looked almost like candle flames in the distance and she smiled to herself. “I understand her better now. I trust her to keep her word,” she said, finally, her tone dispassionate, analytical. Wherever her thoughts had just tried to take her wasn’t somewhere she could allow herself to go. 

“Good.” Bellamy pushed off the crate and took Clarke’s empty cup from her hands as he walked backwards towards the makeshift bar. He smiled mischievously, and though it faded from his face quickly, Clarke realized she hadn’t seen even a shadow of that grin since the first few days after they’d landed, back when he seemed to relish in being the perfect foil for her need to organize and protect them. 

“Hey.” 14’s quiet voice caught in Clarke’s ear as she and Raven made their way around the crate. Clarke scooted to the side, giving Raven room to press her palms behind her and lift herself to sit on the edge.

“Hi,” Clarke said. “How are you feeling? Still okay?”

14 nodded, distractedly; her eyes scanning the crowd.

“And even if you weren’t, just put a drink on top of it and you’ll feel better,” Raven teased just as Bellamy returned, his hands pressed around four cups filled nearly to the brim. 

Bellamy waited until they had each taken a cup for themselves before he raised his own slightly, looking to Clarke. “Welcome home.”

Clarke smiled as they bumped their cups together, hoping Bellamy couldn’t see her momentary discomfort at the word  _ home _ . This place would always feel like a tomb to her.

“So, Gina radioed in while I was getting the drinks. They just got back... “ Bellamy trailed off. 

“Duty calls,” Raven tipped her cup towards him in salute and he smiled bashfully in response.

Clarke decided she liked this Bellamy. He was still confident, but gone was the cocky bravado that bedded two girls when they first landed, only to see them pair off with others as time went on. She still wasn’t sure what kind of apology she could give to Gina, but she was glad Bellamy seemed happy.

Raven took another sip, still wincing at the burning heat. 14’s next draw appeared to go down smoother.

“They let you drink in your lab?” Raven asked.

“Nothing ever as informal as this.” 14 waved her hand vaguely around them. “But alcohol impairs blood clotting, so it was an important data set to compile. Though ours was a bit more… refined,” 14 mumbled into her cup, raising an eyebrow.

Clarke stifled her grin as Raven began an emphatic defense of her skills at welding Skaikru’s first alcohol still. And as always, 14 didn’t seem bothered by any of her past, no matter how brutal it had been, but Clarke didn’t think she’d ever stop being amazed by the softness 14 still held within herself, guarded carefully not by roughness and grit, but by an almost slippery exterior, one filled with masterful deflections and serpentine truths. But sometimes -- and it seemed alcohol was included in ‘sometimes’ -- that softness would peek through and it made her heart ache for reasons she somehow felt both giddy and guilty about.  
  


~

 

Clarke listened to the blood rush in her ears, rocking against the exquisite press of 14’s fingers still inside her, gently coaxing out the last of her orgasm, each ripple slightly smaller than the last. Squeezing her thighs together as she straddled 14 beneath her, she could feel breaths still coming deep, fast, the expansion of bone and muscle softly pushing and retreating against the skin of Clarke’s inner thighs. The relief of this feeling, the numbing cocoon of alcohol allowing her to get lost in her own body, was like running through a maze where her conscious mind was always a few turns behind. Her thoughts flowed freely, undirected as they overlapped, colors mixing and swirling against the pulsing red behind her eyelids until she saw only greens and browns. She allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, that it was Lexa’s hand between her legs, Lexa's body beneath hers. 

In the space of time between her fantasy and the wave of anxiety and shame that followed, she felt herself sway, the ripple of pleasure somehow larger than the one before it, the next even larger, the feeling so surprising and intense she nearly fell forward, throwing her hands in front of herself and bracing her palms against 14’s chest, her eyes slamming shut against the feeling.

Another pump of 14’s fingers, harder still, the heel of her hand now sliding purposefully against Clarke’s already swollen bundle of nerves, sent even more shudders through her body. She bit down on her lower lip and kept her eyes closed, willing herself to only feel in this moment, to not get swept up in her imagination. With each stroke, the careful slowness of 14’s touch grew more intense, shifting into whatever was happening right now. Clarke’s arms trembled as her hands pressed onto 14’s chest, barely able to process the gentle give of the firm muscle just above her breasts, the hardness and void of her ribs beneath. With the next wave, her arms finally gave out and she buried her face into the crook of 14’s neck, her breathing gaining a voice as soft moans began to leave her lips.

Not a moment later, she felt a warm, heavy hand on her back, holding her firmly against the body beneath her as she was suddenly rolled over, that hand briefly pinned between the mattress and her skin before 14 pulled away and sat up, her other hand still working between Clarke’s legs. 

She couldn’t feel embarrassed about the way her hips seemed to rise and meet 14’s hand of their own accord -- the way it even  _ sounded _ different as Clarke watched 14’s arm flex, everything just becoming  _ more _ \-- not when 14 was looking at her with an intensity, a darkness and hunger 14 had never shown her

For a moment, it flickered, a questioning uncertainty flashing in 14’s stoney eyes as her hand faltered before Clarke reached up, her own wrapping around the back of 14’s neck and pulling her down into a deep kiss. She didn’t want her to stop. With her eyes closed, the colors dancing behind Clarke’s lids once again swirled unbidden between greys and greens, and almost immediately, she felt 14 push into her deeper, using her thigh to drive her forward against the back of her own hand. It was unlike anything Clarke had ever felt before -- unlike anything they’d ever done before. 

Clarke broke their kiss, gasping into 14’s ear as she drove into her harder, faster, almost painful enough to want it to stop. _Almost._ Instead, the only words that left her lips were _mores_ and _yesses,_ _pleases_ in urgent, whispered sobs. It was as if she were riding some line between pleasure and pain, unable to maintain any sort of control over anything except feeling the delicious pulses between where 14’s fingertips curled inside her and the pressure from the heel of her palm, alighting every nerve in Clarke’s body, sending sparking waves so strong she had to clench her teeth against the feeling.

She tried to hold on as long as she could, to lose herself in this, in the the way it was almost too much. Too pleasurable, too painful, too intense and real and revelatory. In this moment of slick skin and wet heat, of heartbeats and gasps, and the feeling of warm, pliable skin beneath the desperate rake of her fingernails along 14’s back, there was nothing for her mind to grasp. In this suspended world, everything bad she had done, all the terrible things she’d caused, all of the selfish things she’d wanted all simply evaporated like hot breath into cold air as 14 moved against her.

Clarke felt taught, as though each driving thrust from 14 -- her breath husking in Clarke’s ear, the way her lips brushed against the skin just below, sending shivers across her skin -- was pulling her tighter, everything building until finally it exploded. Clarke unclenched her jaw as she tilted her head back, arching, pressing herself into the pillow as 14 played her through stars and light until all that was left was soft darkness. When she stopped trembling, she felt 14 nose lightly at the skin of her neck, all traces of that power and aggression gone as Clarke stroked gentle patterns along 14’s back, replacing her dragging nails from before with soft fingertips.

She winced as 14 gently withdrew her fingers, the movement so tender and careful in comparison to moments before. Wordlessly they shifted, 14 rolling over onto her back as Clarke fitted herself alongside her, pulling 14’s body into hers until they were flush, neither of them seemingly ready to communicate beyond the humid press of damp skin and slowing heartbeats. 

Clarke listened to the whooshing flow of blood beneath her ear as she lay curled against 14’s side, her head resting against the steady rise and fall of 14’s chest. She traced the line on 14’s skin just below the dip of her collarbone; the cut that had wept blood when she returned from the tower had now faded into the faintest pink line, so small Clarke wasn’t even sure she could feel the raised bump of a scar anymore. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the gentle touch of 14’s hand as she continued to lazily stroke along her spine. 

“Will you tell me what happened with Lexa? About this?” Clarke asked quietly, gently tapping on the skin beneath her fingertip. 

14 was silent for a long moment and Clarke could feel the warmth of her breath as she exhaled against Clarke’s hair.

“Costia.”

Clarke raised her head to look at 14, not sure if she heard her right. “Costia?”

14 nodded. “She was one of my missions. I took her when she was travelling to Polis and delivered her to Azgeda.”

Costia. 

Lexa’s Costia. 

And Lexa had probably been waiting for her. She hadn’t known Costia was dead until they sent her her head

Thinking about how that must have felt, the uncertainty, the confirmation, felt like lead weight had just been dropped onto her chest. 

“Did you kill her? How did you know it was her? ” Clarke asked, her stomach twisting as she waited for an answer.

“No. I didn’t kill her,” 14 answered softly. “I didn’t even know who she was until I found a drawing of her in Lexa’s room. She was just another assignment. But I offered Lexa my life to repay the debt I owed for Costia’s. The cut was far less than I deserved. For anything I’ve done.” 14 brought her hand to rest on Clarke’s, intertwining their fingers briefly as they settled along the scar for a moment before moving her hand away. “Will you tell me what was in the letter she sent?”

Clarke lay her head back on 14’s ribs, listening to the deep breath 14 took. “She offered me a different position than Ambassador, if I wanted it. Coordinating the medical training of the Grounders with our people,” she said quietly, her fingers still playing along the line at 14’s chest. “I’m not sure if the offer was more for me or if she would also prefer I not go back to Polis.” 

“Is that what you wish to do? Not return to Polis?”

Clarke had spent many hours thinking about this question and still couldn’t come up with an answer she could accept.

“I can’t live down here.”

“I know,” 14 murmured and Clarke felt the press of lips against the top of her head. 

“Would you come with me?” Clarke asked, propping herself up on one arm and looking down into 14’s eyes. “If I decided not to be an Ambassador?”

She was surprised to see 14’s uncertainty, her eyes darting back and forth between her own. “I’m not sure you’ll want me to.”

“I’ve done terrible things, too. It doesn’t make us bad people.” Clarke smiled, hoping to reassure 14. It was strange to see her like this. It reminded her of when they first met, of when they weren’t sure the other could be trusted.

“You were thinking of her,” 14 said, her eyes holding Clarke’s for a moment before looking away. “Before. When you were still on top of me. When I was touching--”

Clarke felt her heart rate triple as she sat up fully, holding the bed sheet against her skin. “What?” she stammered.

“The times I healed you -- the times it was my fault you were injured -- had a side effect. We were never supposed to give our blood to anyone, but they never told us why.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke held her voice steady, feeling shame and anger flooding her body in equal measure. 

14 drew a deep breath as she sat to face her. “The chip at the base of my skull. If we’re in close proximity, and you feel something strongly enough, releasing hormones, there’s enough of the nanotech in your blood be detected by the chip and trigger those chemical reactions in me. I tried to fix it in the lab. It can’t be done. There are even notes on it and how much of a liability it is. Forbidding it was the only way to ensure it didn't happen.” Clarke could only open and close her mouth wordlessly like a fish drowning in air. “Right now you feel stress. Cortisol. But…” 14 closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating inward. “There’s more testosterone, now. Anger.” She opened her eyes. “You're angry with me,” she said flatly, as if they were talking about something as mundane as what they had for lunch today.

Clarke fumbled for what to say next, her voice beginning to shake. “So you can read my fucking thoughts, now?” 

“No. I’m not a mind reader. I just feel the chemical changes. Thinking of her...then… Sometimes it’s not difficult to figure out what you are responding to. Sometimes, though, it can feel… confusing if I’m not sure what the trigger was.”

“ _ Confusing _ ? You’ve just told me nothing I feel around you is private and it’s  _ confusing _ for you? You didn’t think to mention any of that? Before you fucked me? Do you know how fucked up that is?” 

14 pulled her body back slightly as if she’d been slapped. But her voice was even more calm than before. “And you fuck me so you don’t have to think about her. You wanted me tonight. You brought me back to this room. You undressed me. You kissed me. And everything else--” Clarke's mind flashed to minutes ago, the echoing sensation of what it felt like to be  _ fucked _ like that, completely unable to think beyond her physical self and her uncensored desires made her squeeze her thighs together. ”You wanted me  _ like that _ because it’s what you feel you deserve. But even you, the mighty  _ Wanheda _ , can’t kill that part inside you that  _ wants _ .”

The  _ her _ was implied, and Clarke hated 14 for it. 

No. She hated herself, she corrected.

But her feelings for 14 in this moment weren’t far behind.

Clarke was still stewing in her own thoughts before she realized 14 was out of bed, her pants already on as she pulled her shirt over her head and reached for the door. Clarke flinched inwardly as she saw long red streaks like tattoos from her fingernails visible through the large gaps in the fabric of the back of 14’s shirt.

At the door, 14 paused, closing her eyes. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”

“Me too.”

14 turned her head, fixing her gaze on Clarke, her expression pained. “I thought this was what you wanted.” She looked down at the bed, at the rumpled sheets still warm from their bodies before turning towards the door again.

“Me too,” Clarke whispered, her voice becoming harder to force out as she teetered on the verge of tears. 

The door closed heavily behind 14 and it was all Clarke could do to hold back a sob until she was sure 14 was out of earshot.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re light as a feather, little bird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the first time in a looong time I've posted a new chapter in < a month. 
> 
> So... yay! Lil' fluffy. Lil' angsty. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and thanks to everyone who has left feedback. And a always, thank you for sticking with this story. :)

The night air was cool against her flushed skin, still damp from the effort it had taken her to get up the ladder and onto the dirt mound that shielded the entrance to The Mountain. Raven listened to the constant drone of insects as she read; the sound reminded her of the persistent buzz of electricity on The Ark. It wasn’t until the mechanical hum’s absence on Earth that she realized she had never experienced true silence in space.

Scrolling through pages and pages of notes and charts she’d downloaded onto the tablet, the picture of life among 14’s people became more clear. The end-goals of what all of that research was working towards still remained murky, and not just because she didn’t understand all of the medical jargon. If she was understanding their notes correctly, ALIE was using Dr. Tsing’s research on chemicals she developed to control the Reapers to make modifications to a chip like the one in 14’s neck. She read words like  _ endocrine _ and  _ limbic _ and  _ brainstem _ , and while she remembered her basic biology classes from her student years on The Ark, she was still an engineer, not a doctor, and made a mental note to go over her findings with Abby. 

The sound of the door clanging open beneath her startled Raven into almost dropping the tablet off the ledge. She peered over the side and saw 14 emerge from the golden beam of light spilling from the hallway behind her, the warm highlights replaced with the cool glow of moonlight as the door shut and she walked into the clearing.

Something about the set of 14’s shoulders, the way Raven was sure she could see the shadows along her jawline bounce as she clenched her teeth, everything about the way she carried herself made her hold her tongue, remaining silent and watchful from her perch. 

14 stopped in front of a tree, her arms hanging at her sides, fingers twitching as she appeared to be debating something with herself. Then, without any warning, her fist flew out, slamming into the tree bark in front of her. Once. Twice. Raven counted nine punches in quick succession, each sending tiny pieces of bark into the air, the leaves of the tree shaking in terror with each impact. 

Just as quickly as her fury had exploded, it fizzled into nothingness, like water thrown onto a fire, a loud hiss melting into nothing but a wisp of smoke. Her arms hung limply at her sides and she turned her head, her eyes finding Raven’s in the moonlight.

“So I guess you told Clarke?” Raven said across the empty clearing, her tone too casual, a lie neither of them believed.

“My timing could have been better,” 14 answered quietly before turning back to the patchy tree trunk, allowing one last look at the light wood peeking from the valleys empty of bark. It wasn’t until that moment that Raven noticed the lines along 14’s back she thought were shadows from the tattered shirt she wore were actually perfectly spaced like… scratches from fingernails. 

_ Oh _ .

Raven swallowed thickly and looked away, avoiding eye contact with 14 as she made her way across the clearing, up the ladder, and settled heavily beside her, legs dangling over the edge.

“You’re bleeding,” Raven said, jutting her chin at 14’s hand. The color of night made the blood oozing from her knuckles look like motor oil.

“It will heal by morning. Your blood is strong.” 14 shrugged.

“My blood in particular? Or Skaikru’s?”

“Both.” 

Raven stared dumbly for a long moment, suddenly aware of how ridiculous their conversation had become; how this world kept outdoing itself with the unexpected and how she’d wish it would stop, or at least slow down a little. 14 looked unfazed, no trace of fury or pain. Raven was starting to at least not be surprised by this.

She sighed and reached for her flask, still half-full of Monty’s and Jasper's moonshine. “Give me your hand.” 14 held out her bleeding hand and stayed still as Raven poured the strong spirit across her flayed flesh, wincing herself as 14 remained silent, the only indication of any discomfort on her part was limited to a loud inhale. “Sorry,” Raven apologized and grabbed a rag from her bag, tying it around 14’s hand. “What happened--” Raven mentally scolded herself when 14 clearly caught her eyes as they flickered uncontrollably to the fading red stripes along 14’s back, hoping the flush of embarrassment she felt didn’t reach her cheeks. “--after you told her?”

“She was upset.”

“So are you.” Raven looked pointedly at 14’s hand.

14 grunted noncommittally, her gaze falling to her lap. When she spoke again, her voice was small, remorseful. “I’m not sure I have a right to be. It was like I knew I should stop it, I knew I should tell her, even though she’d always been the one to start things… But this also felt… so much  _ stronger _ , like everything else was pushed into the background. I don’t think I understood exactly what the chip would make it feel like.” Her eyebrows drew together in concentration. “It felt like all I wanted to do was to keep going. It was like--sorry. This must sound… ” She shook her head, her tone suddenly serious, any fear or concern she might have about her own loss of control completely vanished. It was practiced, unnerving. “It’s all an excuse. I know that my choices were my own, and that I took Clarke’s choice from her by not telling her. I shouldn’t have been a coward.”

Before Raven realized what she was doing, she felt her hand resting on 14’s forearm. She gave a small squeeze. “Have you told her all of this?”

“Not exactly.”

“Maybe you should. Clarke is a big girl and she can make her own decisions,” Raven said, making sure to pause for effect, and 14 looked back up at her. “ _ But _ , it was wrong that she didn’t have all the facts.”

14 nodded, pulling her lower lip into her mouth thoughtfully. Raven’s mind replayed their conversation, trying to avoid actually  _ picturing _ her friends -- she and 14 were friends now, right? -- doing whatever had left long, red welts across the skin of 14’s back, but something in her words kept prickling in her mind. 

“What?” 14 asked, picking up on her concentration.

“It’s just you said it felt really  _ strong _ .” Raven’s eyes widened, realizing what she could be implying, and she hurried to continue. “What the chip did chemically. I downloaded the files between Dr. Tsing and ALIE ...”  She trailed off realizing 14 could rightly be upset with her, but 14’s expression showed nothing but curiosity and Raven felt her shoulders slump slightly in relief. She reached for her tablet and pulled up the exchange she’d been reading. “ALIE was really interested in the way Dr. Tsing could control the Reapers with those tiny vials of serum, the way she could transform a person into those  _ things _ . They talked a lot about what it was like for the Reapers when they just wanted the serum. There wasn’t anything in there about how they could survive the withdrawls like Lincoln. It was almost like ALIE had no idea what it was like to want something so much it felt like you needed it, you know?” Raven sighed and put that tablet back in her bag. “But I want to talk to Abby more about it. There’s a lot of brain science in here that I’m sure I’m not understanding right.”

14 shrugged. “Strip away all of our civilized reasoning and logic, and everything about a person really comes down to chemicals and electric impulses. Control those, control the person.” 

“You make it all sound so romantic,” Raven joked, trying to lighten the mood and 14 responded with a small smile before letting the moment settle into an easy silence between them. Raven reached for her flask and offered it to 14 who took a sip and passed it back. 

“How long did it take you to forgive Clarke for killing Finn?”

Raven’s eyebrows shot up suddenly, the burning liquid in her throat sending her into a coughing fit. “Being raised by scientists makes you pretty fucking direct.” she managed to sputter.

“I’m sorry.” 14 cocked her head to the side, eyebrows knitting together; at once both apologetic and confused. “Did I overstep? Clarke and I talked a lot about her past when we lived--”

“No. It’s... fine,” Raven choked out. “A little unexpected, but fine.” She cleared her throat and took a few deep breaths before continuing. “I don’t think I actually had until she came back here. Not all the way.”

“Why?”

“He was the first person I ever loved; the first person who ever loved  _ me _ , you know? He was my family. But being on the ground changed him. And I think even knowing deep down that he wasn’t  _ my _ Finn anymore, I still hoped he would come back to me. And when Clarke killed him, she took that hope from me.” Raven hadn’t talked about this with anyone, not even Wick when they’d been together. Each word felt like a knife cutting deep into her, but instead of pain, it felt oddly like relief; like a festering wound lanced open, giving the poison in her body an escape. “Finn’s death saved us all, at least at the time. But it wasn’t until you guys came back here and I saw what all of this has cost Clarke… Hell, even at what your life was like before all of this… It just made my anger towards her seem so… petty... in comparison.”

14 nodded solemnly, reaching for the flask and taking another sip before giving it back to Raven. “ _ Petty _ is not a word I would use to describe you.”

Raven wanted to ask what word 14 would use, but instead she lifted the flask to her lips and tilted her head back, the last few drops keeping her words buried and away from her mouth. She screwed the lid back on, tossing it into her backpack with the tablet and groaned as she got to her feet.  “C’mon. You don’t want to be hungover  _ and _ sleep deprived when you go back to Polis tomorrow.”

14 looked as if she wanted to say something, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she closed it, nodding once and descended the ladder.

Raven tossed her bag over the edge to 14 and began climbing down. She had to keep her injured leg extended to the side and used her hands to hold the rungs of the ladder as her good leg “hopped” down the rungs. She felt a steadying hand on her hip when she was almost at the ground. She turned and looked questioningly at 14 who had her back towards her, looking back over her shoulder. It almost looked like she was inviting Raven for a …  _ piggyback ride _ ? 

“Don’t be stubborn,” 14 said not unkindly to Raven’s skeptical face.

Raven opened her mouth to protest, but the twinge in her knee answered for her. She had walked a lot today. Gingerly, she lowered herself from the ladder, settling her thighs around 14’s hips, her arms wrapping over 14’s shoulder and around her chest like a seatbelt. 

  
  


They were only halfway there and Raven already felt like a mess of anxiety and nerves at being  _ carried _ to her room. But warring with that feeling of shame, of dependency, was relief at moving without pain. She felt 14’s arms brace underneath the back of her knees as she adjusted Raven’s weight on her back, her pace never slowing.

“You sure I’m not too heavy?” Raven asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. She felt the gentle pressure of 14’s ribs as they fluttered against her inner thighs, already feeling a worried wave of embarrassment that 14’s breathing was becoming labored.

She was laughing.

“You’re light as a feather, little bird.”

 

\--------------   
  


 

"Open your eyes, Clarke.” Lexa’s soft voice barely carried above the gentle sound of waves frothing against the shoreline. 

Clarke blinked, her eyes watering as they stung in the bright light. She felt the rough grit of sand against her cheek, the warmth of the sun’s light as it touched her exposed skin. Everything around her called out for her to look, to experience, to touch and smell. But in this dream world, everything in her periphery was drowned out -- the cloudless blue sky, the turquoise water, the tans and browns and whites of each grain of sand -- except the liquid green eyes in front of her.

She tried to speak, but not even her lips would allow this moment to be broken. Instead, she lay facing Lexa, her face also pressed into the sand, the calm sea behind her; behind  _ them _ . They were on an island, Clarke realized, without looking away. She heard the water as it lapped against the beach from all directions, but still she could not look away from Lexa’s face. She studied each eyelash, each faint freckle dusted across Lexa’s nose. Clarke realized she hadn’t known Lexa even  _ had _ freckles, but inches away, she was free to stare and study. She was dimly aware of how her fingers ached for paper and charcoal, the desire to draw this moment, to capture it in time so she could have it for eternity. The morphing and shaping of memories called into consciousness and put away again could never distort the truth of a picture.

_ I never want to leave this place _ , Clarke thought.

“Where do you have to go?”

_ Back to you _ .

“And you don’t want to come back to me?” Lexa asked, her eyes warm and dreamy. Clarke tried to answer, tried to think of an answer, but she couldn’t form a thought. 

_ I… _

Clarke closed her eyes. It was too much to look at Lexa and try to think of why she couldn’t go back to Polis, back to her. Eyelashes and ocean disappeared into glowing red light behind her eyelids. She felt a calm settle over her, like her heartbeat was syncing to the ocean waves. Ebbing. Beating. Flowing. 

_ Click _ .

Clarke’s eyes shot open. She tried to look around her, to raise her head, but she couldn’t. No signals she sent in desperation to her neck, her hands, any part of her body seemed to trigger those parts to respond. She was paralyzed, unable to look at anything besides the face in front of her and the tip of the barrel of a gun pressing into the soft skin at Lexa’s temple. The sound she'd heard was the hammer being pulled back, ready to strike the primer and send a bullet ripping through skin and bone. Clarke tried to follow the line from fingers to hand to wrist and up the intruder’s arms, but as her gaze reached higher, she was blinded by the sun behind them, anything she could use to identify them remained in shadow. 

She felt her heart start to race as she looked back into Lexa’s eyes and watched as a single tear rolled down the bridge of her nose, splashing silently onto the sand below.

“Clarke--” Lexa whispered.

_ Click _ .

Clarke opened her eyes. She was still inside Mount Weather, curled in bed. She stared into the dark wall ahead, broken apart only by slim shaft of light coming from the doorway behind her. She closed her eyes again as the door clicked shut and listened to the gentle rustle of fabric as 14 maneuvered into the bed next to hers.

“Clarke?” 14 whispered into the dark. 

Clarke remained quiet, trying to slow her heartbeat through sheer force of will, hoping her deep, even breaths would be enough to convince 14 she was still asleep. She heard 14 sigh quietly, and the room was silent for a long time after, long enough that Clarke wondered if 14 had fallen asleep herself.

“I’ve always known it was her, Clarke. Even before the blood, before I lied to you. It’s always been her,” 14 paused and Clarke was speechless, her heart hammering in her chest, no longer caring about trying to keep the surges of emotion she was feeling hidden from 14. “You would talk in your sleep. Sometimes your dreams were angry, but sometimes they weren’t. You used me to try and forget what it was like to want, and I think I used you to try and remember. We both knew our path was never going to end with us together that way, so it seemed safe. And even after I got to Polis, after I saw the way you looked at each other, saw the way things had shifted with my arrival... Even then, you denied it; lied to yourself through me.” For all that this confession felt like it should reek of anger and blame, 14’s voice remained soft, careful, like she didn’t have every right to be just as angry with Clarke’s manipulations as Clarke was with hers. But Clarke realized in that moment she had already forgiven 14. They had both lied to each other. And for what? Pride? Shame? This was the moment when there were no more lies between them, the moment she knelt beside 14 in the woods and loosened the rope from around her neck, the moment she had fallen asleep trusting a stranger across an embering campfire. She sniffled quietly, feeling a tickle along the bridge of her nose as a tear rolled off and onto her pillow. Clarke wondered what emotion felt like when it was just another molecule floating through plasma and cells. “Sometimes, when you give everything you are to other people, when everything you are is in service to them, when everyone looks to you to be strong, to make the decisions that they can’t, when everyone wants a piece of what makes you so special, you want something that’s all your own. Something that’s just for you and no one else. Something that makes you feel a little less alone. And you’ve convinced yourself that even the act of wanting is a betrayal to your people.”

Clarke had no idea if 14 was talking about her or Lexa.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one BUT I did take some time over the last few weeks to map out the rest of the chapters. Things are about to get a little crazy... though this chapter is just a bit of fluff to tide everyone over as things start to ramp up and we start converging a little more on some stuff that happened in S3.
> 
> Thanks again for reading and commenting.

The elevator rose smoothly up the tower, so smooth it was almost easy to forget that somewhere in the depths of basements and utility shafts, the ropes and pulleys were moved not by whirring machines, but by lumbering bodies of muscle and bone. Clarke’s eyes followed the pattern of a large, geometric leaf along one side of the wall, it’s metal edges jutted out in slight relief against the translucent glass behind it, glowing and fading as their vertical path crossed flooring and open light. The way the light existed on Earth always left her in slight awe and she thought back to the elevators on The Ark, designed under the constraints of space travel, all metal and plastics, soft edges that hid no shadows.

The guard escorting them was tall, burly, but from what Clarke could see of his face, he looked young, the softness around his cheeks made him look more innocent than the scars on his arms suggested. He shifted on his feet, turning slightly more away from her, hiding his face from view. She glanced at 14 standing at her other side, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, gaze fixed on the floor. The ride back to Polis had been quiet. Clarke didn’t think they were in a fight exactly, but the air between them still felt tight, delicate, like the first thin layers of new skin over an open wound, ready to crack and sting at the slightest abrasion.

The strange thing was, despite the tension between her and 14, she actually felt almost calm. Calmer, in fact, the higher the elevator rose. The moment the doors slid open, each step she took felt easier, each step taking her further away from Mt. Weather and closer to...

Entering her room was like filling her lungs with air, finally able to breathe deeply, each cell of her body replaced with sunlight and the soft breeze drifting through the open balcony. She watched the curtains sway for a moment, listening to the retreating footsteps of the guard down the hall, barely aware of 14 moving around the room. All of it had become so familiar, had felt like she could stop here and rest a while. Maybe longer than a while. The winter bunker had always been temporary; a place to hibernate, to emerge from the cold, hungry and new. But Polis was alive, a feast where she didn't think she could ever be full. 

As she finally came back to herself, she noticed a book she didn't recognize on the edge of one of the tables and looked to 14 who merely shrugged. 

“What do you think it is?” Clarke asked moving towards the table. She didn’t wait for an answer as she picked up what turned out to be a piece of leather folded around a book, the pages stiff and yellowed with age and probably some water damage along the way. She untied the strap keeping it together and the whole thing unfolded with the book tucked neatly in the middle. There were also a few charcoal pencils poking out of a small pocket, some nearly new, some shorter than her thumb. She fanned the warped pages and found them all blank.

She smiled to herself before turning and showing it to 14.

“Do you think this is for me?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s for me,” 14 answered dryly, the barest hint of a smile at her lips. 

“I should--” Clarke said, holding up the leather parcel warily suddenly feeling awkward. 

14 stretched her arms overhead as she got to her feet. “Of course.” 

“You don’t have to--”

“I serve as your personal guard and a personal guard isn’t much good if I’m not by your person, Clarke.” Her tone had shifted, Clarke noticed. It reminded her of the way Lexa would school her expression -- her entire demeanor -- when she felt like she was giving too much of herself away. They were both so practiced at it and Clarke wondered if there was ever a time that Lexa or 14 didn’t have to twist a little bit of themselves to only let exactly what they wanted to appear on their faces.

“It’s just down the hall. I’ll be fine,” Clarke said, trying to reassure her, hoping that 14 understood that she didn’t want her to feel obligated to her at all.

“I could cut off several fingers and still count the number of people I trust in Polis with your life on one hand,” 14 said, her voice neutral against the lurid description as she opened the door.

 

Clarke rapped her knuckles on the thin strip of glass inset of Lexa’s bedroom door. In the seconds that it took for Lexa to answer, she felt her heart beat faster -- the electric tick of adrenaline dripping into her blood -- and resented the betrayal of her feelings by the chemical changes of her body. If she could feel it, 14 at least pretended not to notice.

“Come in.”

English. 

“How did you know it was me?” Clarke asked as they stepped into the room and 14 shut the door behind them. 

“None of my guards have your silhouette,” Lexa answered from where she sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of her bed. She let her eyes flicker to the glass door behind Clarke for effect. 14 cleared her throat quietly in amusement.

“Did you leave this in my room?” Clarke asked, holding out the book in front of Lexa.

“Yes. Why? Do you not like it?”

“No,” Clarke stammered. “I mean, yes. It’s beautiful. I just… Why did you leave it for me?” She hoped that her tone didn’t sound too accusatory, ungrateful. The truth was, it was such a thoughtful, personal gift that she had a hard time not reading too much into its intent.

“Tradition.” Lexa unfolded her legs elegantly and got to her feet. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke saw 14 drift across the room to Lexa’s bookshelf, her attention on the spines’ faded letters. 

“Each Ascension Day, the Commander offers a gift to every ambassador and clan leader.” She paused, tilting her head in consideration. “Would you have preferred something else? I admit, weapons are the more obvious choice, among my people. But I thought...”

“No. No. It’s… perfect,” Clarke answered dropping her eyes to the leather, her brow furrowing at the truth of the statement. “Thank you.” She hoped Lexa understood how much she meant it, how much the gesture meant to her. She looked back up into Lexa’s eyes, her lips parting slightly as the last bit of breath left her lungs. No matter her feelings on their relationship, Clarke could never deny how striking Lexa could be to look at. She willed her eyes not to trace the perfect highlights and shadows the afternoon light had created across her cheekbones, her jawline, down her long neck. Clarke’s fingertips were nearly tingling as she toyed with the leather strap between her fingers. “But how did you know? I never told you I drew.”

One side of Lexa’s mouth quirked up in self satisfaction. “A leader should always surround themselves with people who can provide reliable information,” she answered cryptically. 

Clarke narrowed her eyes for a moment, wondering why she was getting this Lexa; the one who made sly jokes drawn with small smiles. They hadn’t talked like this since before 14 arrived and she missed the way it felt to just talk, open and warm. “What about you? What would you hope the Commander would give you if you were the leader of Trikru?”

Lexa was quiet for a few moments, her eyes far away. “Honey,” she said, finally.

“Honey?” Clarke repeated, unsure if she’d heard her correctly.

Lexa nodded. “My family had a small colony of bees that produced an even smaller amount of honey which we traded to other villages. Have you ever had it?”

“No,” Clarke answered, suddenly reminded of how little she’d truly experienced in life on the Ark. When she and Wells had watched old movies and shows from the archives, they had often spent hours afterwards describing to each other what they imagined different foods to taste and smell like. It wasn’t until she had tried cake in Mt. Weather that she’d realized how inadequate their vocabulary had been.

Lexa’s smile grew into something that would very nearly be considered a grin on anyone else; still controlled, still reserved. And still Clarke couldn’t tear her eyes away. “It’s wonderful. Sweet. Like if you could taste the way flowers smelled.”

“Can they not bring you some? Are Commanders forbidden from seeing their families?”

“Not forbidden, no. But they cannot bring me any, either.” Lexa paused, her voice becoming tinged with the faint grief of old wounds. “Not anymore.”

Clarke nodded, drawing her lips together in understanding. She wanted to ask more, to keep talking, and she immediately felt the familiar lurch of shame in her gut. But this time it wasn’t about Lexa, about how each molecule of Clarke’s body seemed tuned towards her, no, she suddenly worried she had overstayed her interruption. Whether or not that was progress, Clarke couldn’t think about that just then. “Thank you for the sketchbook. Sorry for disturbing--” She gestured towards the floor where Lexa had been sitting and took a step backwards towards the door.

“If I hadn’t wanted to be interrupted, I wouldn’t have invited you inside, Clarke.” Lexa moved towards a small table nearby. She poured a glass of water from a small pitcher and offered it to Clarke who took it gratefully, her throat suddenly parched.

“What were you doing, anyway?” Clarke asked, looking back at the floor in front of the bed.

“The day before the ceremony is a day for the Commander to reflect inward, to focus on the counsel they have been given by the Spirits of past Commanders.” Lexa filled a glass for herself and took an unhurried sip. 

Clarke remembered back to the first time she’d heard Lexa talk about the Spirits who guided her and how the next Commander would be chosen by them and by her own spirit when she died. Clarke used to think it was, at the very least, a harmless superstition. But now, after meeting 14 and having had to accept that the chemical changes in her blood were now detectable by an exiled laboratory experiment, Lexa’s faith now seemed a lot less absurd somehow. Who was she to say what was and was not possible anymore? She nodded as though it all made perfect sense.

“Do they speak to you? Directly?”

“Sometimes. They come to me in my dreams mostly. I suppose that is when a mind is the least stubborn.” Lexa took another drink from her glass before setting it down. “But today is about finding the calm in the chaos of leadership, to think back on the choices I’ve had to make and the paths I now walk because of those decisions.” She looked directly at Clarke and the air suddenly felt thick and heavy in Clarke’s lungs, like if she didn’t think about her breathing, she might drown under the weight of it.

Long seconds passed where neither of them spoke until they both turned, startled, towards 14 as she stood from her chair, stretching and stifling a yawn. Clarke felt her cheeks flush, the gratefulness of the interruption tempered by regret as she noticed either the afternoon light or a similar feeling of enchantment colored Lexa’s cheeks as well. As if completely oblivious to their interaction, 14 held up the book she had been reading in her hand, a finger holding her place among the pages, and looked at Lexa. She nodded once and 14 tilted her head in return, tucking the book behind her, into the waistband of her pants as she moved towards the door.

“I’ll see you in the throne room this evening with the other clan leaders?” Lexa asked as they reached the wall.

“Yes. Kane and Bellamy should be arriving in a few hours.” 

14 opened the door and stepped into the hallway, walking well away from view before Clarke heard her stop.

“Clarke?” Lexa asked as Clarke was about leave. She turned to face Lexa, catching the brief trace of unease as it passed across her features, quickly replaced with a cautious warmth she hadn’t seen since they lay on the hilltop outside the city’s edge, their faces framed by the glowing night sky behind them. “I’m glad you came.”

The sentiment caught Clarke completely off guard. The sentiment, and the way she felt the truth of it settle into her bones. She was also glad she had returned to Polis. They smiled at each other and Clarke allowed herself to dwell without guilt for a moment in the stuttering bloom of heat she felt in her chest.

“Me too.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thought never occurred to her that they could be binary stars, gravity pulling each of their orbits together, fated to collide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little present to help you avoid your families this weekend (if you need that sort of thing).
> 
> Thanks as always for reading and feedback.

“The world we inherited from the ones who came before -- those who dwelled in shining cities and those who looked down upon them from the stars -- the world they left us was forged in the blaze of Primfaya.  _ We _ were forged in Primfiya.”  Lexa’s voice carried through the throne room, her tone every bit the Commander in its unbridled intensity. “The fire that burned through our ancestors still burned in our veins, soaking the ground with blood long after the world had stopped smoldering. Without each one of you, the alliance of the 12 clans would still be a dream. But it was _ you _ who decided that your people deserved better, that their fates were worth more woven together than as wisps of smoke in the wind. And so, from the ashes of our ancestors, we have risen.”

Clarke felt goosebumps prickle along her forearms as she looked around the room, feeling a swell of pride as she saw the rest of the clan leaders and ambassadors nodding. Even Bellamy’s subtle shift of his weight, the uncrossing of his arms as he stood next to her was evidence of the power of Lexa’s words.

“Tomorrow, as we honor past Commanders and the future generation of novitiates, we will also welcome Skaikru as the 13th clan in our coalition.” Lexa paused for effect her eyes finding Kane and Clarke as she allowed the low grumbles of some of the clan leaders to subside before she continued. “With them, they bring the forgotten knowledge of our ancestors; ways to heal our people and educate our children beyond simply surviving. To say that they are our enemy is to look around this room and call each clan that is not your own an enemy. We have warred with Skaikru as we used to war among ourselves, each death bringing more after it; the call for vengeance -- of blood must have blood -- has always been our way. But if peace is to move forward, then their blood  _ must _ become  _ our _ blood.”

There was a brief moment when Clarke could hear the echo of Lexa’s words fade in the room, when no one breathed or moved enough to disrupt the silence with squeaking leather or clanging metal. Then, slowly, chants of  _ Heda! _ began to rumble low in the crowd, growing in volume until it was a deafening roar and she could see the tiny smile of pride on Lexa’s lips as her eyes found Clarke’s again.

The door to the throne room burst open, a man charged in, the guards around him looking towards the dias for further instruction. He shouted for Lexa -- for  _ Heda _ \-- amid the dozens of other voices in the room, even as one guard’s blade now rested at his throat. Clarke felt 14 shift beside her, angling herself in a more protective stance.

“Heda! Heda please!” The man’s voice rose above as the others’ died down. He was out of breath, his voice as ragged as his clothing.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Lexa asked, nodding to the guard to release the man as she stepped down from the dais to stand in front of him as the other guards gave them a wary berth.

“Skaikru attacked my village, Heda,” he panted. “Everyone slaughtered. I was coming back from the river and ran before they could capture me.”

The room was now a din of murmurs and Lexa lifted her hand for silence. She turned to Kane. “Is what he speaks true?”

Kane stepped forward. “No, I--”

“Liar!” the man shouted. 

“Do you have proof of what you say?” Lexa asked the man calmly. 

“Proof?” The man was stunned. “I watched as Skaikru soldiers slit the throats of the wounded that their bullets didn’t already kill.” 

Clarke looked between Kane and Bellamy, relieved to see genuine shock on both their faces. 

“We didn’t do this,” Kane turned to Lexa. He seemed horrified.

“Then who did?” Lexa asked, her tone impassive, calm.

“I… I don’t know. Our radios don’t work over such long distances yet.” Kane paused, his eyes dropping to the ground as he thought for a moment. He ran his fingers through his hair, stalling for time. “Something horrible must have happened if what he says is true. Let us go back to the mountain to find out.”

The tension in the room, twisting tighter with every word, finally broke as murmurs erupted into shouting. Clarke felt a cold dread settle into her stomach as she realized most were calls for Skaikru’s execution.

A tall woman who had been along the outer edges of the crowd strode into the center of the room; she was powerful, confident, and everything about her demeanor demanded that the clan leaders hush themselves immediately. She had intricate scarring at the edges of her face and across her forehead lay the bleached white jawbone of a small animal, the point ending at the bridge of her nose. 

Queen Nia of Azgeda.

“Heda, you cannot let these traitors go back to their stronghold,” Nia said, her voice dripping with disdain. “They have murdered your people, and not for the first time,” she added acidly. “What is the point of the coalition if it affords us no protection? Azgeda will not stand by while our brothers and sisters  _ by blood _ are slaughtered.”

All eyes in the room darted back to Lexa and Clarke could feel the anger just under the surface of her calm. Lexa and Nia stared at each other for a long moment, and Clarke wondered if they were waiting for the other to attack. Lexa blinked slowly and looked away, out towards the room.

“If what--” Lexa paused, looking at the villager. 

“Balt.”

“If what Balt says is true, then there can be no peace.” The grumbling in the room swelled and ebbed like a wave, the tone more agreeable and Clarke felt dampness along her palms as she squeezed her hands into fists. Was this another betrayal? Another time Lexa would choose the Grounders over pledges made? Was Clarke this fucking stupid to trust her again? ”However, this coalition was built on trust. And I trust that if the situation were reversed, you would demand Balt’s village the opportunity to explain themselves.”

Nia scoffed, clearly unhappy, an accurate reflection of the mood of the room, but her tone was cloyingly differential when she spoke. “Of course, Heda.”

There was another long pause between them, the room crackling with energy like the air before a lightning strike. Finally, Lexa broke their eye contact and turned towards Kane.

“You will have three days to return from Mount Weather with a proof of Skaikru’s innocence or provocation. As an act of good faith, one of you must remain here in Polis. If you do not return by sundown of the third day, their life will be forfeit and your absence will be seen as a declaration of war.” Lexa paused, drawing a quick breath as if she could feel the room about to erupt again, speaking before the first spark could ignite. “Additionally, for the protection of the other villages, I will call upon the clan armies to stage a blockade set at a five mile perimeter from Mount Weather. Any Skaikru who crosses the boundary will be killed. Do you understand these terms?”

Kane nodded. He walked back towards them and looked at Bellamy for a long moment. Bellamy shifted and dipped his chin, agreeing to something. Clarke was about to ask and then understanding hit her.

“No, Kane. I should stay in Polis.”

“Clarke, you know I can’t leave you here. Abby for one thing… And if it turns out--” he inhaled deeply, exhaling in a loud, frustrated gust.

“We didn’t do this,” Clarke shouted in a low whisper.

“And so what if we prove that we didn’t? Are they going to just believe us against the word of one of their own people? What’s to stop them from killing you as soon as we leave?” Bellamy asked, shifting her focus as his eyes bored into hers. Protective. Fierce. The Old Bellamy.

But even as good as him acting like her friend again felt, Clarke felt a flare of frustration at having to explain herself to him again. 

“Trust,” Kane answered. 

Clarke nodded, glad that someone understood how they had to play this for the alliance to even have a chance at keeping them all alive in the future. “Besides, they know we still have all the weapons left by the Mountain Men.”

“What good are missiles if they cut off your head the moment we’re outside the city?” Bellamy argued. 

“They won’t. And if they do, use the missiles and don’t forget we’ve also got the acid fog,” Clarke answered sardonically.

“Well I want to go on record that I don’t like this.” Bellamy jerked his head back over his shoulder towards Nia. “Or her.”

“You shouldn’t. That’s Queen Nia of Azgeda,” Clarke said and knew that Bellamy was thinking of the bounty on her--Wanheda’s--head. Not for the first time, she wondered how much the bounty had been worth. 

He turned to 14 and Clarke watched as some silent conversation passed quickly between them, ending with a short nod from 14 and a few millimeters of Bellamy’s shoulders relaxing.

“See you in three days,” Kane said, squeezing Clarke’s arm before he and Bellamy walked towards the door. 

With the excitement over, the rest of the Grounders began shuffling out of the throne room and Clarke decided she had some things she needed to clear up with Lexa before she felt comfortable returning to her room.

She let her gaze wander across the crowd, finally landing on Nia, and was surprised to find she was making eye contact with the queen. Her eyes were an icy blue, so light they were almost reflective against the smudged black paint around her eyelids and sides of her nose. They stared at each other for a long moment and Clarke hoped she was conveying as much hostility as she felt emanating from the queen. Nia’s eyes flicked to 14, squinting for a moment, her face puzzled, and Clarke heard 14 breathe in sharply before they watched her and her ambassador walk through the doorway.

When the room was empty, 14 broke her silence. “The Queen knows who I am.”

Lexa stepped forward, and Clarke listened to her normally silent forest steps amplified in the stone room, the sound loud and urgent. “She knows your face?” 

“No. My face was covered when I delivered…” 14 cleared her throat. “I believe she has had dealings with my people beyond my assignment. Several of my generation and I shared certain features.” She ran her fingers through her hair for effect. 

Lexa nodded and Clarke realized with a sudden, sinking dread, that if 14 was right, Azgeda could be in alliance with people not so dissimilar from Skaikru -- people with advanced knowledge of technology  _ and _ the ability to create a nearly invincible army. If it came to it, would Mount Weather’s missiles and fog be enough to stop Azgeda’s soldiers if they were supported by 14’s people?

Clarke knitted her eyebrows together, drawing her lower lip between her teeth in thought. “You think she’s still working with them? I thought you said all of your siblings were dead.”

“They are but after reading all of those files in the lab, I think this project could have been a lot bigger than they told us. And I think trusting that Nia’s interest in this situation ends at fair reparations for that massacred village is foolish,” 14 answered and the look in Lexa’s eyes told Clarke they were all in agreement about Nia’s motives. “Is Clarke under your protection?”

“What?” Clarke sputtered, caught off guard by the turn in the conversation.

“Is she under your protection?” 14 repeated, ignoring her and speaking only to Lexa.

“Of course.”

“What? Where are you going?” Clarke asked, reaching for 14’s arm as she moved to leave them. “What are you going to do?”

14 looked down at Clarke’s hand around her wrist before she lifted her hands to her own shoulders, gently breaking Clarke’s grip and pulled the hood of her shirt over her head. Clarke could barely make out the slight smirk on her lips below the shadow of the fabric before 14 turned and walked quickly towards the doorway. “I'll be back soon.”

Clarke and Lexa stared at the door long after it had closed, the room eerily silent after all of the commotion before. 

They hadn't been alone together in a long time. Clarke hated how it felt completely, painfully  awkward… and yet she couldn't convince herself that she actually wanted to leave, either. 

“So am I a prisoner again?” Clarke asked almost wearily as she spun to face Lexa. 

“No more than you were before.”

This was not how Clarke had anticipated their alliance moving forward when she decided to return to Polis. For Kane and Bellamy? Her trust in this alliance, in Lexa, had to be unwavering. But here in this empty room with her, she had to force herself to ignore the the voice in her head warning her that she would be betrayed by Lexa again with the added humiliation of being a willing prisoner. All because some part of her needed proof that Lexa deserved redemption. 

“Thank you for staying,” Lexa said quietly, all joking between them suddenly put aside.

“I stayed because it was the right thing for my people.”

“ _ Our _ people.”

“Not yet.” Clarke crossed her arms. “And what happens when we deliver proof of our innocence? Will the other clans still welcome us into the alliance? Will Azgeda? If they demand it, what’s to stop you from betraying me again?”

“I won’t.” Lexa was almost pleading in the softness of her tone. And Clarke wanted to believe her, wanted to think that what they were working towards was enough to keep all of them safe, to avoid further war. Taking a deep breath, Lexa stepped forward and then dropped to her knees in front of Clarke. “I swear fealty to you, Clarke kom Skaikru. I vow to treat your needs as my own and your people as my people.” Her green eyes shimmered in the candlelight, her voice steady and sure. 

Clarke felt like she couldn’t breathe, like her throat was closing; the beat of her heart pulsing against the tightness in her chest. She knew she should say something, but she could barely swallow against the sticky, painful dryness in her mouth. Instead, she extended her hand towards Lexa who took it in her own as she rose to her feet. From deep within Clarke’s body, a feeling heavy warmth settled into her belly, the weight of it obeying a different gravity, pulling forward instead of down. 

Clarke stayed where she was, nearly trembling against the feeling inside her, refusing to give ground, to show any weakness.

The thought never occurred to her that they could be binary stars, gravity pulling each of their orbits together, fated to collide.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had they met earlier, would this all feel the same? Was it inevitable? Or perhaps in all possible paths their lives could have taken, they were fated to experience this moment together at precisely this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm super sorry for the delay on this chapter. I had it about 75% written and it just wasn't *correct* and I ended up scrapping / re-writing 90% of it over the holidays because it was just too important not to get it right. But it's a longer chapter so hopefully you guys will forgive me.
> 
> So I want to give a special shout out to two of the loveliest Bellarkers (ikr?) for helping me workshop and being my beta readers for this chapter.  
> FluffyMusketeer is an incredible writer and makes me better when we talk.  
> CapitalChick for helping me remember how to get back in the characters' heads and for giving me great notes.
> 
> This chapter is written a little different than the others.  
> Let me know what you think in the comments.

Clarke rubbed the edge of her thumb along the shallow groove she'd worn into the stone balcony rail outside her room just a few weeks ago. Her skin tingled, the repetitive motion almost hypnotizing as she watched the lights of the city below flicker like stars against the dark, moonless night.

She let her eyes unfocus, the torches of homes and taverns becoming the candles lining the walls of the throne room as Lexa knelt before her, making her vows. Remembering the way Lexa's lips had stayed just barely parted when she'd finished speaking, the way she'd looked at Clarke when she stood, the warmth and roughness of Lexa’s hand held in Clarke’s -- just thinking about it made Clarke feel like she was full of air; like the butterflies swirling and flapping beneath her ribs might carry her off the tower and away into the night. 

But then her mind would see-saw the other direction; the paper thin wings becoming heavy, sinking like cold lead in her gut as her mind and heart raced into a rising panic. It had been hours since 14 had left them in the throne room to go do… whatever it was she was going to do… Clarke had no idea. “Soon” had come and gone and Clarke didn’t know whether 14 was safe; whether she was spying or killing or had been caught or something worse.

The gentle sting of a forming blister pulled Clarke from her thoughts as she brought her thumb to her mouth, soothing it quickly with her tongue before resting her hand on the balcony again.

She hated the thought, but knew there was only one way to calm her anxiety, to find out what might have happened to 14 in the hours that had passed. She pushed herself away from the railing. 

“Shit.”

 

 

Even as she walked down the hall, the feeling in her stomach still vacillated between heavy dread and weightless anticipation. It wasn't until Clarke turned to see Lexa coming out of her bathroom, her fingers nimbly unbraiding her hair into messy chestnut waves, that Clarke realized she hadn’t even knocked, let alone waited to be invited into Lexa's room this time. 

“Clarke.” Lexa sounded more cautious than startled when she looked up, her eyes widening only slightly as she stopped in front of her desk before her features stilled, betraying no further emotion. “Is everything ok?”

“Sorry. I-” Clarke paused as Lexa casually reached for her long coat, briefly letting Clarke see her covered in only a thin nightgown. The shimmering fabric in the candlelight made her olive skin glow, like the sparkle of sunlight over sand. Delicate straps hung across lithely muscled shoulders and arms, light playing across the sharp angles and deep hollows of her collarbones as she moved. Clarke made a mental note to carry the sketchbook with her as she dragged her eyes up the column of Lexa’s neck and watched the high fur collar slowly envelope the rest, leaving only a strip of skin from her throat to the top of her nightgown. Clarke blinked rapidly, forcing down a quick breath to sober herself. “14 said she would be back soon, but that was hours ago. I’m worried something might have happened.”

Saying 14’s name felt like a splash of cold water she desperately needed. 

“She's fine, Clarke.”

“You’ve heard something?” 

“No,” Lexa paused, and Clarke felt hope slipping. “But she’s a better fighter than I am, and I assume just as skilled a spy.”

The complement was unexpected, as was feeling the faint echo of the swooping adrenaline she’d felt at watching their fight at The Pits. “Better? But you won. I saw--everyone cheered--”

“Everyone there knows only what they  _ could _ see: my knife at her throat. You could not feel the blade she had pressed here.” Lexa extended her leg a few inches from beneath her coat and lightly touched a spot along her inner thigh, her mouth quirking up as she remembered the fight. “But she chose to keep our draw a secret.”

“Among others,” Clarke mumbled, feeling the bitter reminder that her visceral reactions towards 14 would still take time to dull. After all, she'd only very recently held an actual blade she'd sharpened herself to Lexa's throat. These things take time. “Why didn’t you kill her on the roof? Blood must have blood. For Costia?”

Lexa tilted her head, evaluating her. “She’s important to you, Clarke, and she holds no value to me dead apart from some notion of revenge for a wound that became a scar years ago. What sort of diplomacy would we be working towards if I killed your...” She paused, clearly unsure of what word to use.

“Bodyguard?” Clarke offered, aware of the slight edge in her tone.

Lexa opened her mouth around a silent letter before seeming to change her mind. “Was she able to find what she needed at Mount Weather? To fix her reliance on your blood?”

Clarke nodded. “She and Raven resurrected an old computer to make the change. Free and clear to heal herself with other people's blood besides mine.”

They both stood quietly for a long moment, each picturing a slightly grotesque scene and Clarke smiled as she watched Lexa scrunch up her nose slightly.

“And the other part? The… feelings?” 

Lexa's tone was innocent enough, but Clarke was still aware of the effort it took to keep her voice steady as she was reminded of their final hours before returning to Polis. “So she told you, then? About our  _ connection _ ? Before she even told me?” 

“On the roof, yes. As much as she knew at the time and as much as I could understand. It had bearing to our conversation. ” Lexa seemed taken aback by the abrupt change in her mood. “She was afraid of what it might mean for your… relationship.”

Clarke scoffed. “Not too afraid to--” she swallowed hard, remembering the night, remembering how intense it had felt, remembering the harsh truths after. “We’re not… It's not like that. We’re not together, like that,” Clarke stammered, unsure why she felt the need to make sure Lexa knew where she and 14 had left things between them. They were all adults. What did it matter what any of them did in their own time? “I don’t think we ever were,” she added, mostly to herself.

Lexa nodded once, as if she understood. “It’s complicated,” she offered.

“Yes.” Clarke caught herself. “No. It’s not. We lied. It's that simple. We lied to each other and I still feel sick when I think about what she kept from me; what it felt like to learn that my  _ emotions _ weren’t my own anymore. She told me things--she told me things and it was like she was reading my mind. And not in a good way. She betrayed my trust. And we can’t go back to the way things were because I’m not sure how to handle this  _ invasion _ of who I am.”

Lexa was quiet for a moment, thinking, her eyes dropping away from Clarke’s to some spot on the ground between them and Clarke had the strange urge to step forward towards it. An invisible line in invisible sand. 

“She was raised without choice, only a duty to serve through blood and pain, and her defiance left her nearly dead for you to find. Perhaps her silence was simply trying to cling to some measure of control over her fate, since once again, her body was forced to do something she had no control over.” Lexa looked up at her now, her expression unchanged except for the slight shimmer of some warmth only visible as Clarke met her eyes. “And maybe if you knew, if you knew what she felt, you wouldn't want to be around her anymore.”

Clarke was speechless. No matter how many times it happened, she was always struck by Lexa’s quiet perceptiveness, her attentiveness. Against her better judgement, she allowed herself to dwell in the glow she felt spreading behind her ribs. “How do you do that?”

Lexa blinked, clearly expecting a different reaction. “Do what?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Always know the right thing to say?” Clarke shook her head in disbelief, smiling slightly, and she was rewarded with the barest upturn of Lexa’s lips in return.

“Costia would have laughed if she’d heard you accuse me of that. There were  _ many _ times that I did not.”

“But she forgave you.”

“Always.”

The softness in Lexa’s eyes was heartbreaking and Clarke almost regretted this turn in the conversation. Almost. The fluttering wings were back in her stomach, and Clarke thought about how even if their friendship remains exactly where it is right now -- precarious, delicate, electric -- it would be worth it for the butterflies.

Lexa took a deep breath and moved a small step towards Clarke. “I meant what I said before, Clarke. I am glad you came back to Polis. I know… I know it was probably not an easy decision. I will have always betrayed you. But I hope that maybe someday, you will be able to consider me a friend, as I think of you now. I value it.” 

The last bit came out in a rush and Lexa drew her lower lip into her mouth for a moment before regaining her composure. Or at least trying to look like she had. They were standing close enough now that Clarke could just make out the rapid beating of her pulse along the skin of her neck just below the sharp angle of her jaw. 

“I bet you say that to all the Ambassadors,” Clarke teased, trying to ignore the way the air in the room suddenly felt thick, heavy. Her own heart was hammering in her chest, each thump like an alarm, warning her that she was veering dangerously close to doing something she needed to be one hundred percent sure about. 

Lexa stood completely still and all Clarke could do was feel like every molecule in her body was suddenly telling her to step forward, to see if she would still feel that  _ thing _ between them when they’d first kissed. That thing that wasn’t like anything she’d felt before (or felt since, if she was being honest with herself about 14). She hadn’t even known that _ thing _ had even existed before that moment in the tent. And if she was even more honest with herself, even the times when thinking about it was coated in bitterness of choking hatred and self-loathing, she knew she would think about it with anyone that came after for the rest of her life. That  _ thing _ she could never forget. 

And some part of her was now willing to admit to herself that she hoped that Lexa had felt it too; that maybe someday they would be in a place where she could imagine herself getting to feel it again.

“Just you, it seems.” Lexas eyes darted back and forth between Clarke’s, dilated and watery in the dim light. They were the only other part of her that seemed to move, like she was controlling every cell in her body.

She had that strength.

Clarke did not.

With one last glance at Lexa’s lips, she stepped forward, bringing one hand to slide along Lexa’s neck, pulling her in as she’d done to Clarke the first time.

For a moment, she worried that she had misread the tiny cracks in Lexa's stoic poise. Lexa’s lips were soft against hers, pliable and silky and everything she’d hated herself for imagining over months, but Lexa wasn’t kissing her back. Her hand had fluttered to Clarke’s hair, cautious, surprised, like she wasn’t sure if she had permission.

What if this had all been a mistake? What if Lexa truly meant that she’d only wanted friendship, that she didn’t actually want --  _ need _ \-- more? What if she was simply  _ over _ Clarke?

Clarke pulled back slightly, breaking their contact as she slowly opened her eyes and watched a single tear roll down Lexa’s cheek. She followed it as it fell, splattering on Lexa’s coat and as if tied to that free-fall of Lexa’s tear, their masks fell away, Heda and Wanheda disappearing into shadows, their shattered essence entwined like dust on the floor. 

_ Lexa barely registered the warmth rising to her skin, the hot path a single tear had blazed down her cheek was like trying to feel a single blade of grass through her armored gloves; all awareness beyond the tingling of her lips and the look in Clarke’s eyes was pushed to the borders of her consciousness. _

_ Clarke had kissed her. _

_ Through the months of not knowing if Clarke was dead or alive to the weeks spent trying to regain her trust, she had still never let herself truly believe that Clarke would ever forgive her, would ever want her again.  _

But Clarke didn’t think she she had ever wanted anything more in her life. Her head swam, the room narrowing into surrounding darkness as she looked back into Lexa’s eyes, a sea-glass tinted swirl of uncertainty and yearning, like she wasn’t sure if Clarke would decide it had been a mistake and leave the room just as quickly as she’d stormed in.

As if to answer Lexa's silent question, Clarke closed the space between them again, and like a switch flipped, a lever pulled, Lexa came to life between her hands, against her lips, immediate and wonderful like they’d done this a thousand times in the days since their first. She tasted like rain; sweet and sublime as Clarke gently swiped her tongue across Lexa’s upper lip, relishing the shudder she received in response. As their kisses deepened, she felt Lexa’s hands grow bolder, sliding to the base of her neck, around her hips, drawing their bodies ever closer. Her fingers slid under Lexa’s coat, feeling it go slack as it fell off her shoulder in a quiet huff onto the floor. She leaned in, nearly losing herself in the wanton gasp that filled the room when she placed an open mouthed kiss to the golden, warm skin where Lexa’s shoulder gracefully curved upward into her neck before their lips found each other again.

Clarke had no idea if she was pushing or Lexa was pulling her, but they moved towards the bed, their bodies separating only when the back of Lexa’s legs hit the mattress and she fell seated onto the furs. Lexa gazed up at her and Clarke was sure her heart stopped as she looked down at tear-stained cheeks shimmering in the light, sure the only reason it started beating again was Lexa saying her name in a breathy whisper. And behind her name was a question, punctuated by the barely controlled desperation in Lexa’s tone. 

They could stop now. They could leave things as they were, untouched, unsated, unbroken.

A million ways to tell Lexa that she’d never been more sure of anything in her life passed through her mind, none of them making it anywhere close to being breathed into the world. She could see the push and pull of Lexa’s desire and she wanted that feeling unleashed on her, freed. She nodded once and allowed herself to be pulled onto the bed.

Between the kisses, the meandering path of fingertips across gradually uncovered skin, the pile of clothes on the floor grew until it was only them, their bodies, their breaths, heartbeats and lingering looks that promised so much  _ more _ .

Clarke let herself get lost in her body, in the feeling of Lexa’s hands on her, the reverent kisses across her chest, the swirl of a tongue around a sensitive nipple, the way Lexa would take Clarke’s lower lip into her mouth, letting it go with the barest scrape of her teeth. It was all so much and not nearly enough, sending her reeling, uncontrolled into the depths of her arousal. But then she felt Lexa slow, pull back for a moment as she propped herself up on an elbow, shifting to Clarke’s side. Her eyes burned a path up and down Clarke’s body, and Clarke felt the last forgotten bits of the shell she had built out of hatred, the bitterness she’d held in her heart against Lexa for so long blow away like ashes. She barely had time to wonder at the feeling, the lack of this acidic, consuming turmoil was gone and like a vacuum left in its wake, her body filled immediately with a feeling she recognized, but hadn't really felt before this moment, this clearly. 

“Is what we're doing okay? Do you want to keep going?” Clarke asked, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt, naked (well, more than she already was) under Lexa’s gaze. With anyone else, she might have curled inward, pulled them on top of her to draw some of the attention away, to distract. But for Lexa, she held still, only letting her wild breathing, her heartbeat, spiral outside of her control, offering everything that she was, everything Lexa could see and touch and taste of her. 

_ When there was nothing left between them, nothing beyond the warmth of skin and seeking touch, it seemed suddenly too much. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Clarke, and yet everything she felt inside was crushed under anxiety unspooling, threatening to tangle and suffocate the perfection of this moment. She considered simply trying to ignore the twisting, jittery feeling, but then remembered the look in Clarke’s eyes at the Mountain, when she was brought to Polis, when Lexa had told her about 14’s confession; and she knew in an instant that if this -- whatever _ this _ was or might be after their heartbeats had slowed, the chase ended --  was real, then she had to be honest.  _

_ “It’s just… I haven’t… not since…” She spoke in quiet bursts, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, embarrassment and fear pulsing in hungry roars, gnawing away at her confidence. Lexa watched as understanding dawned across Clarke’s features -- her eyebrows barely jolting up in surprise, pupils expanding and contracting, a sharp intake of breath -- and she prepared herself for the inevitable rejection. She was meant to be alone. By blood. But the longer she watched -- only another second, really -- surprise melted into warmth, into heat, into something Lexa felt igniting the inches of crackling air between them. _

_ “Okay,” Clarke smiled, threading her fingers through Lexa’s hair and scratching gentle reasurances against her scalp. “Okay.” _

_ “Okay?” _

_ Clarke nodded and then paused, reconsidering. “Do you want to stop?” _

_ Lexa shook her head once, flooded with relief when Clarke’s smile grew. “I just… I’ve heard the rumors they tell about me in the taverns and--”  _

_ “What rumors?” This time, only a one of Clarke’s eyebrows shot up in question. “That you’ve bedded every eligible -- and ineligible -- woman in Polis?” She was clearly joking, now, and Lexa was surprised at the calm it brought her. _

_ “Something like that.” She looked away, briefly picturing the few times she had almost considered maybe allowing the warmth of another body in her bed. “Besides, Titus would not have allowed it, anyway.” _

_ “Allowed? I thought the Commander could do whatever she wanted?” Clarke teased, the rasp in her lowered voice betraying a more serious undercurrent. _

_ As odd as Clarke’s reaction had been -- odd in its humor and grace around an embarrassing truth -- Lexa hadn’t expected quite the peace it would bring her. She felt the treasonous demons of her mind retreating back into the darkness, leaving only warmth and light. “I haven’t wanted to even imagine myself with anyone since… until you...” Lexa licked her lips, concentrating on the morphing sensation of fear into a delicate and trembling anticipation. “I just wanted you to know. In case I'm not what you expected.” _

_ Before she could wonder if she’d confessed too much, Clarke leaned upward, bringing their lips together in a kiss that Lexa felt  _ everywhere.  _ Clarke continued to kiss her, piecing them back together, deeper into each other, breathy gasps turning into low moans, needy whines that seared themselves into Lexa’s memory as their bodies rocked desperately together.  _

_ Clarke began to talk between kisses. “I’m glad you told me… but… as far as having expectations… and of being disappointed…” The hand fisted in Lexa’s hair relaxed, fingertips tracing a wandering path down her shoulder, her forearm, down to Lexa’s wrist, gently encircling it with a warm, sure grip and began guiding Lexa’s hand down the plane of her stomach. She broke their kiss the moment Lexa’s fingers scratched through a neat patch of hair, turning her head and bringing her lips to brush against the shell of Lexa’s ear. “I’m not sure you quite understand… what you do to me.” Clarke let her grip go slack as Lexa’s fingers slid through the warmest, softest wetness she could have ever imagined. The feeling so heady and overwhelming she had to close her eyes to ground herself, gasping as she felt Clarke angle her hips for better contact, her arm wrapping around Lexa’s back, drawing their bodies even closer. “Okay?” she whispered, her voice catching as Lexa slid her fingers through her in a long, experimental stroke.  _

_ “Clarke--yes.” Lexa’s words shivered out as she nodded too quickly, inhaling deeply as her mouth found the curve of Clarke’s neck. She began exploring, wanting to learn every secret sound she could pull from Clarke’s lips, every gasp and whine and moan and whimper. Lexa was drunk on all of it, intoxicated with the feeling of holding all of the magic and wonder in the universe in her hand as she caught the girl who fell from the stars. It was everything she never knew she needed, everything she had denied wanting for herself or ever thinking she deserved. _

_ And she realized she had forgotten how powerful it could all feel. In the years since Costia, her power had come from battles and bloodshed, persuasion and politics, but she had forgotten this feeling that dwarfed anything she ever would feel as Heda. She had forgotten how a little shiver or sigh could send her reeling; how hearing a single, satisfied moan could unravel her beyond recognition, beyond the ability to keep her heart locked away safely in her chest.  _   


Lexa had trusted no one since Costia with this part of herself and Clarke felt the weight of it, the responsibility of the moment soaking into her skin as she felt Lexa’s fingers slide lower, painting her most sensitive places with electric pigments. Clarke grinned into Lexa's shoulder, stifling a groan as she felt Lexa studying her through the pad of her fingertip. She was the same in bed as she was everywhere else: alarmingly present and intense and authentic. Each careful stroke, each shivering build of pleasure pushed Clarke’s body closer to breaking, her heart closer to shattering not apart, but open, free. It all felt inevitable, important. The meeting of sky and earth fusing together in devastating heat.

_ Open your eyes, Clarke _ ,

She had no idea if the voice was Lexa’s now or only in her mind, but her body obeyed the command, opening her eyes to look up and into Lexa’s, her face hovering only inches from her own, lips parted, still shining from their last kiss. And what she saw nearly left her breathless.

_ Joy _ . 

Pure, untainted happiness drenched in lust, in affection… in something deeper. She tried to hold on as long as she could, wanting to memorize every detail of Lexa’s face in that moment before she felt control slipping away from her. A deep, nearly sobbing cry escaped her lips, her head tilting away with the arch of her body, her eyes rolling as pleasure flowed through her. She felt everything at once -- the hand at her core, the heat of their bodies pressed together, Lexa’s panting breath at her neck. All of it and all at once she couldn’t hold it back, her body finally catching up to all that had come before and all that was still ahead. 

Lexa held her through the last tremors that shuddered outward towards her fingertips, her toes, even the ends of her hair. When there was nothing left, when all she was were the remnant specs of stardust suspended in space, Clarke used her last remaining strength to wrap her arms around Lexa, pulling her pliant body on top of her own, covering herself in a blanket of soft nuzzling and even softer words she was too exhausted to translate as Lexa pressed them into her skin. 

After more than a few minutes, Clarke felt Lexa begin to move away, the sweat dried on their skin making it sticky and painful as it was pulled apart like a bandage from a wound. Her skin was still humming at a low buzz, unprepared for the feeling of anything besides Lexa; she rolled along with her, reversing their positions as she looked down into Lexa’s eyes, bright and twinkling with pride and the crinkled edges of her small smile. 

“You look so fucking smug right now.” Clarke kissed her, licking into her mouth playfully and biting gently on Lexa’s lower lip as she pulled away, grinning at the stunned look on Lexa's face. 

She leaned down and kissed her again.

And again.

And soon they were moving from the afterglow into something new, something sparking to life as Clarke’s fingertips began to trace the gentle curves of Lexa’s breasts, across pebbled nipples and the ridges of her ribcage, slowly drifting downward to grip at the jut of her hip before slipping between Lexa’s legs, relishing the way Lexa surged, curled into her as she tucked her head between Clarke’s neck and the pillow, letting out a wonderful, disbelieving whine.

The sound of it, the feel of it, sent tingles across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Somehow, even buried in the warm, slippery heat of her, it wasn’t enough. She leaned down again, tracing the tip of her nose up the slope of Lexa’s shoulder and along her neck until she was at her ear.

_ “Can I taste you?” Clarke breathed against her as she continued to work her up gently, the feel of it sending shivers down her entire side. It was a long moment before Lexa could even process what she’d been asked, so overpowered by the ecstasy she felt as the movement of Clarke’s fingers began to feel more purposeful, more precise. “Please?” Clarke nearly begged, waiting for Lexa’s answer and something about the pitch of her voice chased all hesitation from Lexa’s mind. She sounded so desperate and Lexa was suddenly powerless to deny her anything. _

_ Lexa turned her head, bringing their lips together in a deep, trembling kiss, nodding against Clarke’s lips and she felt Clarke grin in response. Clarke shifted, kissing her way purposefully down Lexa’s body. Each kiss, each drag of her tongue and nibble against soft, quivering flesh sent conflicting waves of chilling goosebumps and scorching heat across Lexa’s skin, as if her body was awakening, groggy and dazed from hibernation. She tilted her head down, watching as Clarke settled herself into the vee of her hips and looked up at her, lower lip catching on the skin of Lexa's stomach, bright blue eyes asking for confirmation. _

_ Now it was Lexa’s turn to feel impatient with anticipation; all she could do was nod once, biting her lip and trying to stifle a gasp as she felt Clarke lean in and take a first, tentative swipe with her tongue. It was so much  _ more _ than she remembered. So much softer. So much warmer. So much. So much. So much.... _

_ Clarke pulled back, her breath hot and panting on Lexa’s center and she was about to look down, to see if maybe Clarke had changed her mind, if something was wrong, but then she felt Clarke lean in again, moaning as she took another agonizingly long stroke with her tongue and Lexa felt the vibrations travel up her body, reverberating in her chest as a new wave of desire began to consume her.  _

_ She had been alone for so long, tending to her body’s needs with cold, utilitarian efficiency. The care and tenderness Clarke was showing her threatened to overwhelm her, almost terrifying after so many years alone and the darker parts of her mind warned her that she would regret her vulnerability, her weakness. To surrender so fully to desire, to pleasure, felt like a betrayal of her duty, a selfishness she’d long since abandoned. But as her body remembered what it was like to be touched, to be caressed, she felt torn between regret at denying herself this contact for so long and relief that she had waited, knowing that anything she might have done with anyone else would never have been able to compare to what she felt now. _

_ With the heat of Clarke’s mouth against her, Lexa felt her last remaining doubts melt away like ice in the spring, leaving only the tiniest grain of disbelief that this was actually happening. She buried her fingers in Clarke’s hair, needing something to hold onto, something to touch and keep her grounded, something to remind her that this was _ real _.  _

Clarke concentrated on the steady weight of Lexa’s thighs on her shoulders, the way her hips canted with the rhythm of her tongue, the stifled moans and sudden jerks of pleasure… Clarke was drowning in it, ready to sink below the surface and fill her senses with everything Lexa had to give. She opened her eyes and watched her for a long moment; the arm bent back over Lexa’s head gripping the pillow, the candlelight reflected on the damp, glistening skin of her chest, the way her other hand gripped and pressed along her lower stomach, moving cautiously before threading deep into Clarke’s hair. Every twitch and shudder, every moan and gusted breath was a statement, a request, a conversation between them of forgiveness and promise. 

Clarke had never imagined it would feel this way. She had imagined the act of being with Lexa enough times, sure, but the rawness of the moment, the urgency she felt at needing Lexa to feel safe in her exposure… This was all different, new. She’d had enough sex to know herself, know the way she responded to another person, the sticky, burning intensity as they both chased pleasure and escape, to be what the other person wanted in that moment. That was simple, easy. A role she could settle into, spread across her skin to wear for a time before it evaporated along with the sweat and tingling aftershocks. 

She had never wanted to be what someone  _ needed _ . But as Clarke settled into a rhythm, she felt her entire body beginning to  _ ache _ , a phantom pain she knew instinctively would only dissipate with Lexa’s undoing. It was a delicious feeling, one that she never knew existed and she never wanted it to end. She smiled against Lexa, momentarily breaking the seal she had formed around the straining, swollen bundle of nerves between her lips and relished the nearly pained whimper she received in response, moaning as Lexa gasped when she resumed her ministrations, sure that Lexa could feel the vibrations through her tongue.

All too soon, Lexa began to tremble, her movements becoming more subdued as her body stiffened, the soles of her feet pressing into Clarke’s sides as her back began to arch, the hand in her hair gripping just hard enough in a physical plea for release, for absolution. Clarke held her through it all, the silent scream, the pulsing around her fingers and against her tongue, the tremors and rippling waves of pleasure. She held on as long as Lexa would let her, until she felt the hand in her hair relax and tug her upward.

_ Lexa didn’t realize that her eyes had been closed until she felt the tickle of Clarke’s hair against her face, her body slowly registering the warm, reassurance of Clarke’s weight on top of hers. Clarke’s breath ghosted across her face, leaning in and kissing her languidly and Lexa couldn’t help but groan when she tasted herself on Clarke’s lips; tilting her hips against Clarke’s thigh slotted between her legs and shivering out the last embers of her orgasm.  _

_ The last time she was with anyone was Costia. They had both been so young then. Not much younger than she was now, but even though it was just a few years time, the chasm between what she had known then and everything she must bear now had grown an immeasurable distance. She was different now. How could she not be? _

_ Who had Clarke even been a handful of years ago? _

_ Had they met earlier, would this all feel the same? Was it inevitable? Or perhaps in all possible paths their lives could have taken, they were fated to experience this moment together at precisely this time. _

Clarke felt Lexa’s fingers trail along her sweat-slicked spine, her body still trembling beneath her as they kissed. As they pulled apart, she drew a deep breath before slowly opening her eyes, knowing she wasn’t prepared, wasn’t  _ ready _ for the sight of Lexa below her and it was so much more breathtaking than she had expected. Skin flushed, lips swollen and parted, her green eyes darker than a night forest; Clarke knew there would never be a time when seeing Lexa shattered apart like this wouldn’t send her heart pounding in her chest, infinitely humbled that Lexa felt safe enough to let her see her so vulnerable. 

“Hey.” Clarke smiled, kissing empty the spot between Lexa’s eyebrows where the metal symbol of the Commander usually rested. “You okay?”

Lexa nodded, slow and turgid, like she didn’t have the energy for more. It only made Clarke grin wider. Clarke shifted her weight and felt Lexa tense in response.

“Where are you going?” Lexa asked, voice dry and rough, laced with panic at the edges.

Clarke continued to move, nestling herself into the crook of Lexa’s arm, her head resting against the sticky skin of Lexa’s chest, the sound of her slowing heartbeat murmuring steady and reassuring like the ocean in Clarke’s ear. “Nowhere,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also shout out to all the amazing authors of fics I've read. Your eloquent smut has been an inspiration.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the pain she had felt in her chest after Costia died was one side of a coin, then the way she felt now was the other. It hurt. Almost. The ache of it. The giddiness, at once sharp and buzzing numbness like slipping freezing limbs beneath the surface of a hot bath in winter and she couldn’t help but hold her breath for a moment, savoring the way her body hummed with the burning heat of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! I haven't disappeared. Just took me a while to find the time to write this. Shit starts to hit the fan this chapter and you'll recognize some elements from S3 being woven into this part of the story. Thank you in advance to everyone who comments. They're a joy to read and help keep me motivated.
> 
> Next up: Ontari gonna Ontari.

Lexa inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the trace scent of Clarke as it clung to her pillow, the warm smell pulling her across the slow slide into consciousness. Eyes still closed, she flexed her arm, almost surprised to meet the soft resistance of Clarke’s belly, her back pressing slightly more into the curve of Lexa’s front.

And then she remembered.

She remembered  _ everything _ .

Clarke kissing her. Clarke’s hands on her body. Clarke’s breath in her ear. The bow of Clarke's throat and the dip of her hips as she arched backwards, Lexa's name on her lips. The sound of her. The taste of her. The way their sweaty skin had felt as they caught their breath; flushed and hot. The gentle kisses and whispered words and how easy it was to fall into each other again. 

And again.

Lexa burrowed her grin into her pillow and marveled at the feeling swirling beneath her ribs. If the pain she had felt in her chest after Costia died was one side of a coin, then the way she felt now was the other. It hurt. Almost. The ache of it. The giddiness, at once sharp and buzzing numbness like slipping freezing limbs beneath the surface of a hot bath in winter and she couldn’t help but hold her breath for a moment, savoring the way her body hummed with the burning heat of it all. 

She pressed her face forward, leaning her forehead against Clarke’s spine in the valley between her shoulder blades, disappearing into the feel of her skin and the gentle push pull of her breathing. Lexa lost herself in it, like her meditations with the Commanders, but Clarke was real. 

This was real. 

And that was when she heard it: the slightest whisper of fabric, nearly as faint as the wings of an owl in the dead of night.

Without opening her eyes, she carefully slid the arm under her pillow along the mattress until she felt the handle of the knife she kept behind her headboard. Grasped firmly in her hand, Lexa barely opened her eyes, peering through her lashes into the darkened room, still hoping she would have the element of surprise if she was right about the sound.

Weak moonlight filtered past the curtains, casting 14’s grey hair in glowing silver as she moved away from the balcony and Lexa finally allowed herself to exhale, her fingers releasing the knife as she lifted her head and turned to face her familiar intruder.

The moment Lexa’s eyes landed on her, 14 nodded and moved away from the bed a few paces, turning her back to give Lexa some privacy as she reached for her long coat and shrugged it on, shivering as her bare skin made contact with the fur lining, its luxurious softness holding no comparison to Clarke. While her mind raced forward, her body remembered. 

“Something tells me even if I tripled the number of soldiers guarding this floor, it would make no difference to you.” Lexa whispered as she adjusted her collar, coming to stand across from 14.

14 shrugged her shoulders. “Probably not, no.”

Lexa nodded, amused by her impertinence. Not since Gustas (and maybe sometimes Clarke) had anyone teased her. It was refreshing. Though she still felt the initial urge to chastise, to yank the chain of discipline before there was enough slack to expose her any weakness. But with Clarke in her bed now, 14 was possibly the closest thing she could consider a normal friend. 

Clarke stirred in her sleep, mumbling quietly as she shifted beneath the furs, her hair spread out in a pale golden halo across her pillow before she settled again, her breaths deep and even. Lexa suppressed another grin, another wave of this long-forgotten feeling as it crested through her blood, looking away and towards 14’s face, strangely impassive as she watched Clarke. 

“Do--is this uncomfortable for you?” Lexa asked, completely at a loss for how to proceed. Perhaps this was also one of the reasons she was meant to be alone. 14 seemed momentarily confused by the question, but shook her head once. “What does it feel like?”

14 flared her nostrils and inhaled deeply, her tongue poking out from between her teeth for a moment as if tasting the air. She turned to face Lexa, her face kind. “It’s hardly anything right now, but in this moment t just feels… pleasant.” 

They turned as Clarke reached an arm behind her, startling slightly as she found Lexa’s side of the bed empty, but probably still warm, Lexa guessed. She sat up quickly, her eyes squinting into the darkness, her shoulders slumping as she saw them standing in front of her at the foot of the bed. 

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her voice groggy and thick as she talked around a yawn. “You’re back.”

“Or you’re still dreaming.” 14 smiled, her voice softly teasing. 

Clarke yawned again. “If I were still dreaming, I wouldn’t be in this bed alone.”

They both looked at Lexa for a moment before turning back to each other and Lexa felt a stab of anxiety, suddenly worried that regardless of how at ease 14 appeared to be, what she and Clarke had shared was going to complicate matters between her and 14 even further, that all of this had been a mistake and she should have known better than to allow this lapse in judgement. She turned to look at 14, not at all expecting to see the wide grin spreading across her face, her eyes shining like polished granite as Clarke smirked in return.

Clarke slid out from beneath the covers, wrapping a blanket around herself and tucking it under her arms as she moved to stand between them, the teasing from earlier wiped from all of their faces. “Are you okay? Did you find out anything?”

“I followed Nia all evening. She met with some of the Ambassadors at her embassy. She’s planning something and is trying to sway them to her side.”

“Her side?” Clarke asked.

“I think she’s planning a coup.”

“The other Clans won’t follow her if she doesn’t have the Flame,” Lexa said, shaking her head. “Only the Commander is given the Flame and all of the  _ Natblidas _ have been trained by me since they were small. Eventually they will Second with Generals from other clans, but for now, they live here and study under my watch. She has no access to them. So even if she could trigger a conclave, she still wouldn't--”

“What’s the flame?” 14 interrupted, crossing her arms.

“It’s…” Lexa paused, bringing the fingertips of one hand to rest on the back of her neck, gently tracing the faint line of a scar along her vertebrae. “It’s the living Commander’s connection to the previous ones. It is how the spirits of the previous Commanders speak to me. When I am dead, I will join with my predecessors and speak to the next Commander through the flame as well.” Of all the people who would be able to understand what the Flame’s whisperings felt like, Clarke and 14 would certainly have been the perfect audience, but Lexa wasn’t sure how to even  _ start _ to explain the sensation. And unlike the connection 14 had with Clarke, none of the other Commanders were still alive.

“She could take it from you,” Clarke said and Lexa was reminded of the rise of  _ Wanheda _ , the conquering of The Mountain. How truth and myth had merged together into the sleep-mussed girl in front of her. 

“Perhaps. Though, not by force. Only the Flamekeepers know how to transfer it from one Commander to the next, and Titus is the high Flamekeeper. For all of his  _ friction _ , I have never questioned his loyalty. And without the flame, Azgeda’s rule is illegitimate and no Clan will follow.” Lexa tapped her thumbnail against her front tooth, a manifestation of her anxiety that she normally hid. “Did she go anywhere else?”

“After meeting with the Ambassadors, she met with two of her guards. One I didn’t recognize -- she had no scarring on her face -- and the younger guard who stood with her today. Nia asked if they had gotten what they needed and that was it. No timeframe. Nothing about what  _ it _ was,” 14 shook her head. “But it’s definitely something. And given her tone, it’s soon.”

The three of them were silent for a long moment and 14’s information churned around Lexa’s mind like a marble through a wooden maze. There was something missing, some detail, a keystone that would reveal Nia’s game if only she could find it.

And like the roll of a set of dice clattering across a table, a series of sharp bangs erupted across the city below. They seemed to be coming from all directions surrounding the tower, but all of them relatively close by.

“Was that--” Clarke began.

“Gunfire,” 14 answered, looking at Lexa.

She only had a moment to decide, the whispering voices of the Spirits drowned out by the roar of blood in her ears from her pounding heart and the shouts of guards in the hallways.

“Take that door,” Lexa said, pointing to the one opposite her room’s main entrance. “It will take you through back hallways and to your room quickly. Wait there; I will send guards to fetch you.”

Clarke nodded, already pulling her clothes back on as 14 moved to stand in the doorway of their exit. As she watched Clarke dress, Lexa wondered if they would ever have another moment like this -- another moment where they could exist for only each other. Lexa stared out ahead of her, both seeing and unseeing as each inch of Clarke’s skin disappeared under layers of fabric until there was none left but the gentle smirk at Clarke’s lips, pulling her from her daze.

“Hey,” Clarke whispered, moving to stand in front of Lexa.

“Hi.”

“We’ll figure this out,” Clarke said with certainty, bright blue eyes full of conviction as they found Lexa’s. 

Lexa nodded, swallowing hard, ashamed to tell Clarke that her uncertainty had nothing to do with her own fate or the fate of her people. She felt numb. But even through that fog, the press of Clarke’s lips against hers was like fire, instantly turning the cottony haze around her to ash as she wrapped one hand around Clarke’s waist and threaded the other through her hair, kissing her back with everything she had. 

It was over too quickly, the air around her face cooling as Clarke pulled away and moved towards the door and all Lexa could do as she stood alone in the room was try to convince herself that what she and Clarke had shared, what she had allowed to happen, wasn’t a mistake, regardless of how much she would never want to have to choose between the many and Clarke ever again. She imagined how much more painful that choice would be now and wondered if it could kill her, realizing perhaps  _ that choice _ was why Commanders must be alone.    
  


***

 

“The total count of the dead has reached sixteen, Heda. Eight of them Ambassadors.” Titus’ somber voice was soon swallowed by murmurings of the gathered crowd in the throne room. Clarke felt her stomach turn at the news and she heard 14 shift behind her, the cowl of her hood pulled over her head leaving only her mouth and chin visible. Clarke doubted her disguise would fool Nia, but she suspected it was more to lend an ominous air around Wanheda as the rest of the room crackled with hostility.

“Which clans?” Lexa asked, the slight urgency in her voice betraying the tiny fissures in her calm demeanor. 

“Sankru, Delfikru, Trishana Kru, Azgeda, Trikru--”

“Trikru?” Lexa turned to face Indra, her own expression grave.

“Yes, Heda. The Trikru Ambassador and her personal guard. I only heard the gunshots as I was riding back to Polis, but by the time I arrived at our embassy, it was too late.”

At the mention of gunshots, all eyes turned back to Clarke. The room felt hot, stifling all of a sudden, even at the same time, Clarke felt her skin break out in goosebumps, damp with sweat. “We didn’t do this--”

Indra interrupted her, looking genuinely hurt, betrayed. “Then who did, Clarke?” 

Clarke didn’t have an answer. She knew in her gut that Nia was behind all of this, but without proof to exonerate Skaikru, she was stuck, alone, surrounded by opposition, waiting for Kane and Bellamy’s return. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on Nia as she leaned down and listened to one of her advisers who had just entered the room.

“Heda,” Nia called out, getting Lexa’s attention. “My guards have managed to capture one of Skaikru’s assassins with the gun he smuggled into the city borders.”

“That’s impossible,” Clarke shouted above Nia as she turned to face Lexa. “I’m the only Skaikru left in Polis. There’s no way Kane would have betrayed you like this, Commander.” She knew better than to expect anything but the cold, detached gaze she received from Lexa. She knew the truth behind those eyes, knew the endless depths of warmth they could contain; but they had to pretend distrust. For now.

There was no such deception in the look she received from Nia, however. With a quick flick of her gaze, Nia was able to convey a disgust so palpable and yet dismissive that Clarke had to stop herself from shivering. Without missing a beat, Nia returned her attention to Lexa. “With your permission, I would like to bring him before this council.”

Lexa nodded and the doors swung open. Clarke stood on her toes, craning her neck to get a good look at the man the Azgedan guards dragged into the room and threw to the floor. The crowd watched as the man gingerly got to his feet, his progress slowed by the ropes around his wrists and he moved as though his dirty uniform was hiding a multitude of injuries. He grunted, clearly in pain, his voice muffled by the gag tied around his mouth. Clarke stopped breathing the moment she saw his face, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Do you know this man?” Lexa’s voice cut through her surprised haze.

For several heart pounding moments, Clarke was frozen in place, her eyes locked on Murphy’s, his eyes wide with terror. Each of them knew that if she didn’t claim him, he would likely be killed immediately, but if she did admit she knew him, then it would be much harder to convince the council that Skaikru was not responsible for the shootings. While she knew in her gut that Kane would never have ordered this attack, she also hadn’t seen Murphy in months so apart from the uniform, he very well could have been acting under hostile orders.

“Yes,” she said quietly, before she could doubt her choice, and saw the relief on Murphy’s face immediately. “But he disappeared from Skaikru’s camp months ago, before Mount Weather. And he was never a guard, so that uniform--”

“He was found inside Trishana Kru’s embassy with a  _ gun _ , Heda,” Nia interrupted, her voice calm and authoritative, as though she was merely continuing a conversation, ignoring Clarke outright. ”Clearly the Skaikru leader had a backup plan after you sent him away. Leaving Wanheda as collateral? That just tells me he is a shrewder observer of weakness than we thought.” Even from where she was standing, Clarke could see the muscles in Lexa’s jaw clench. 

Lexa sat in silence for long moments. She seemed to be considering something, her eyes quickly finding Clarke before cutting away again. “I gave the Skaikru leader my word that I would wait for him to return with news of the attack on the village.” As she spoke, the murmuring in the crowd grew louder, forcing Lexa to raise her voice. “ _ However _ , with this most recent attack, I will ride for the Skaikru mountain and speak--”

“They slaughtered our villagers. They murdered our Ambassadors. And still you have the nerve to seek them out again in the name of peace?” Nia shouted, cutting Lexa off. “How is  _ talking _ vengeance for the sixteen souls murdered within the capital’s boundaries? How is it vengeance for an entire village slaughtered? How can we put our faith, the faith of our entire people, in a Commander who would rather court the favor of the enemy?  _ Jus drein jus daun _ , Heda. Your people are owed the blood of those killed, and yet all you wish to do is  _ talk _ . If you cannot execute your duty to your people, then you should be relieved of that duty.”

Clarke listened to the voices in the crowd, first murmured agreement with Nia, then slowly forming into a loud, united chant. 

_ Nou Heda noumou.  _ Commander no longer.

Clarke turned towards Lexa, raising her voice slightly to be heard above the chanting. “What is this, Commander?”

“This is a coup,” Lexa answered calmly, shaking her head once at Titus as he seemed to be ready to call in the guards.

“This is the law. Her law,” Nia said, the iciness in her voice cutting across the din as she pointed towards the throne. “A unanimous vote of the Ambassadors and clan leaders  _ who have managed to survive _ or death are all that can remove a commander from power.”

Clarke watched in horror as one by one, the remaining Ambassadors and clan leaders stepped forward, each uttering  _ Nou Heda noumou _ as they did. Even Indra seemed resigned as the Trikru clan leader joined the quorum.

“This isn’t good,” 14 mumbled behind her. 

Seeing the number of votes slowly inch towards -- and finally reach -- twelve, Clarke took her step forward. “The vote is  _ not _ unanimous.” She saw the smallest upturn in Lexa’s mouth before her face grew still again.

This time, it wasn’t Nia but another grounder who addressed her, the bridge of his nose and cheekbones covered in small painted circles. “We do not recognize the legitimacy of Skaikru, Wanheda.”

“Trishanakru,” whispered 14 and Clarke remembered the glowing forest Finn had shown her in their first days on the ground. She had been told they were a relatively peaceful clan, but she supposed even some peacemakers had their breaking points.

“Only clans who have taken the brand of the coalition may vote,” he continued, no small amount of disdain in his voice, and Clarke remembered how conveniently Balt had interrupted the last council meeting, leading to Kane leaving Polis without completing the ritual. 

“Heda, the votes have been cast,” Titus said, regretfully. 

Clarke was at a loss, and as she watched Lexa look around the room, so was she. Clarke looked at the girl who stood beside Nia just as 14 leaned towards her.

“That’s the same guard I saw speak to Nia earlier,” she whispered. 

The girl hadn’t taken her eyes off Lexa the entire time, and with the last vote cast, her face now contorted into a maleficent grin. 

Lexa regained her composure quickly, turning to Titus. “Gather the  _ Fleimkepas _ and inform the  _ Natblidas _ to prepare for the conclave,” Lexa announced, her voice still authoritative, yet Clarke could hear the tinge of sadness at its edges, knowing the deadly fate of all but one of the novitiates.

Within minutes, the door to the throne room reopened and a small group -- Clarke could only think of them as  _ children _ \-- walked into the center and stood in front of the dais. 

Just as Lexa was about to open her mouth to address them, Nia spoke again. “There is one more  _ Natblida _ to enter the conclave. Ontari?” She indicated the girl who had remained silent by her side. Instantly, the crowd began to buzz again. As if to address the hushed whisperings, Ontari -- who actually appeared to be a few years older than the eldest novitiate -- unclasped a knife from her belt and without a word, drew it across her forearm, instantly dripping inky black blood onto the stone floor. Clarke found Lexa’s eyes as the rest of the room gasped and Clarke watched as Lexa tried to hide her own surprise at this unexpected entrance into the conclave. 

Nia looked triumphant as Titus gestured for Ontari to join the novitiates in front of the throne.

“I had hoped for many more seasons to touch your faces before this moment came,” Lexa said, looking into the eyes of the novitiates, lingering on Ontari’s briefly. “But when I made this law, I knew it was only as powerful as my commitment to honoring it, honoring the will of the twelve clans so long as they were united. Tonight, you will purify yourselves in preparation for the conclave and tomorrow begins the fight for your birthright. May the Spirits choose wisely.” Lexa’s eyes shone with pride and sorrow and Clarke swallowed hard, trying to keep her own tears at bay.

“I’m sorry Lexa but…” Titus motioned for the guards to come forward and pointed towards Lexa, Clarke, Murphy, and 14. “It will fall to the next Commander to decide the fates of you and these Skaikru. Until then, you will all be placed under the watch of the  _ Fleimkepa _ guard in the holy temple of the First Commander until the Conclave is over.”

Clarke felt dread as she and the others were led from the room. The pieces of Nia’s puzzle were fitting together, and all Clarke could do was hope that Aden or another one of Lexa’s protegees would be able to defeat Ontari tomorrow. She felt Lexa’s fingertips brush the back of her hand, catching her eye before looking away again, her head held high, defiant, as she passed through the doorway.


End file.
